


WHUMPTOBER 2.0

by Zeckarin



Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [39]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: #Blood loss, #Blurred vision, #Burried Alive, #Fire, #Lost, #Manhandled, #Mourning Loved One, #Narcolepsy, #No1.LET'S HANG OUT SOMETIME, #No2.IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY, #No3.MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY, #No4.RUNNING OUT OF TIME, #Trail of Blood, #Waking Up Restrained/Hanging, #abandoned, #broken bones, #enemy to caretaker, #grief, #run, #struggling, #whumptober2020, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale's Flaming Sword (Good Omens), Bickering, Claustrophobia, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Failed escape, Female Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, N.21.I DON'T FEEL SO WEll, No.10.THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED, No.11.PSYCH 101, No.12. I THINK I'VE BROKEN SOMETHING, No.13.BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT, No.14.IS SOMETHING BURNING?, No.15. INTO THE UNKNOWN, No.17.I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING, No.18.PANIC!AT THE DISCO, No.19.BROKEN HEARTS, No.20.TOTO I HAVE THE FEELING WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE, No.23.WHAT'S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE?, No.25.I THINK I'LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE? THANKS, No.5.WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?, No.6. PLEASE..., No.7.I'VE GOT YOU, No.8.WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO?, No.9.FOR THE GREATER GOOD, On the Run, Panic Attacks, Phobias, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Rescue, Sentient Bentley (Good Omens), Sentient Bookshop (Good Omens), can't believe i forgot that tag, stop please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 43,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26738095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeckarin/pseuds/Zeckarin
Summary: I am SO happy to be here for Whumptober again!Last year was an amazing experience and I am psyched to do it this year too!Prepare for some fluffy angst everyone^^
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [39]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523585
Comments: 470
Kudos: 199
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. 1. Let's hang out sometime

**Author's Note:**

> I will write every prompt, and try to post regularly. I can't promise, but I will certainly do my best^^. If I have to take days off, I'll catch up after.  
> I don't know when I'll finish it, but I will write every 31 chapters!  
> I am so excited to write for whumptober again. Last year was such a great time! It's amazing to see people enjoying my fics and having fun reading them.
> 
> I love you all, stay safe, and take care!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favourite angel wakes up in a difficult position...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say?  
> I can't say a thing, I'm too happy^^  
> Whump is BACK!  
> But fluffy, fun whump...  
> At least most of it. You know me :)

Aziraphale woke up.

This was enough information to know that something bad had happened. Aziraphale almost never woke up, for he didn’t sleep unless forced too, so waking up was already a _clue_.

Of course, he added to himself as he opened his eyes, finding himself hanging head down by his ankles, wrists bound behind his back, was another.

_Oh, dear. This is not good._

He closed his eyes again, unwilling to let whoever had captured him realise he was conscious. A quick check confirmed his first suspicion. Yes, the bindings had been cursed. No way to free himself, or miracle anything, as long as he was restrained with these ropes.

What had happened exactly?

He remembered… an evening out. They had dined in that lovely little restaurant next to the opera (he’d taken the Mofongo), then they’d watched La Bohème (the performers had been enthusiastic, if not exceptional), then…

Then, he couldn’t remember clearly. But he was almost certain Crowley hadn’t been with him after that.

_See you later, angel._

Yes! The demon hadn’t accompanied him back to the bookshop! Aziraphale had wanted to walk back, to enjoy the surprisingly warm night, and bless a few passers-by on his way. Crowley had decided to follow a group of politicians that were loudly comparing the evening’s performance with every other they’d attended so far.

They weren’t very nice in their criticism, to be quite honest. The angel had thought his dear friend would be able to have a lot of fun with these ones. Entitled, condescending, and powerful men always had been one of the demon’s favourite targets. Aziraphale himself, in the Arrangement’s days, had sometimes taken some satisfaction in-

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching interrupted the angel’s musing. He focused on relaxing his muscles and breathing evenly. Appear unconscious, and maybe...

The footsteps stopped in front of him. _Shit. They kn_ _o_ _w_ _I’m_ _awake!_

A raspy, unsettling voice confirmed his suspicion. “Hello, angel. So we finally meet again.”

Aziraphale’s eyes shot open in disbelief. “Hastur?”

The Duke of Hell smiled, showing blackened, rotted teeth. “Missed me?”

* * *

“Honey, I’m home!” yelled Crowley, entering the bookshop with a large grin.

The night had been delightful. He’d ruined the career of three dirty politicians with only one paparazzo, and that was a personal record.

Their fault. Never accept a bribe without closing your curtains first. Rookie mistake.

Sighing contentedly, the demon aimed for the backroom. A friendly argument, a good nap, and his day would be-

Wait. Where was the argument? The angel always tutted and harrumphed at the “honey” line. _What if I had a customer? What would they_ think _, Crowley!_

“You here, Aziraphale?”

No answer. That goodie-two-shoes angel was probably still out and using all his Grace to bless _strangers_.

Crowley sighed. No bickering then. He could go to bed (well, couch) already, but it was late, and it had started to rain, and his stupid angel wouldn’t want to use a miracle to keep himself dry where humans could see him.

He would need a cup of cocoa upon his return.

Crowley aimed for the kitchen. He was fairly certain they still had marshmallows somewhere.

Climbing the staircase, he didn’t notice the little golden chain on the floor, hidden in the shadows.

* * *

“What in Heaven’s name do you think you are doing, Duke Hastur?” snapped Aziraphale, who, while hanging face down, still managed to appear as outraged as a dowager Countess confronted to a not-so-fresh cucumber sandwich.*

*Which, considering some dowager Countesses, wasn’t that much of a feat.

The demon’s sickening smile grew larger. “Why, I am wooing you, obviously!”

“Wooing,” repeated Aziraphale with a deadpan expression.

“Yes! I have to prove to you that I am worthy! See how cunning I am? I got you by surprise and abducted you all by myself! I didn’t even leave a trace! Are you impressed? You are not easy to ambush but I still managed it. And Crowley wasn’t even there to help you! I would never let that happen if I were your demon!”

The angel rolled his eyes and heaved a frustrated sigh. Great. Absolutely perfect. He was trapped and bound with a lovesick, sadistic demon, and didn’t even get his one o’clock cup of tea.

If Hastur discorporated him, he would never hear the end of it from Crowley.

“How are you even able to talk to me? I thought the contract you made with Crowley forced you to avoid me?”

The Duke chuckled. “Beelzebub destroyed the contract.”

Aziraphale wasn’t prone to anger, but he squinted his eyes murderously. “Beelzebub? _They_ did it?”

And he had thought that he and the Lord of the Flies had some kind of an agreement since he’d helped them enter Eden to steal an apple in order to strengthen their position on their throne. You really couldn’t trust the rulers of Hell. It was depressing.

“Yes. They checked Crowley’s files and noticed a contract between us. They destroyed it themselves. Said Crowley was to be left alone now.”

The angel frowned. “Wait. Are you telling me that Beelzebub thought they were _helping_ Crowley by destroying the contract?”

Hastur laughed out loud. “Yes! They didn’t even ask me what it was about! They were persuaded it was something bad for him. Isn’t it funny?”

“I am not sure we share the same sense of humour,” declared Aziraphale coldly.

“Aw, don’t be like this, angel. We both know it was destiny. I will always come back to you, like Frank Churchill to Jane Fairfax!”

 _I knew the Austen_ _DVDs_ _were a mistake_ , thought Aziraphale.

He really should have been worrying about his situation, he knew it. But Aziraphale being Aziraphale, he focused on the _real_ emergency.

“Frank Churchill? That’s your example? _Frank Churchill_?”

“Well, he is faithful,” answered Hastur defensively. “I think he is great. You deserve better than a Willoughby.”

The angel’s face got red, and it had nothing to do with his position.

“EVERYONE DESERVES BETTER THAN A WILLOUGHBY!”

“Then who do you think is good enough for _you_ , angel?” snapped Hastur, who had spent a lot of time studying Churchill’s smiles and voice, and was a little frustrated to know it had all been for nothing.

“Were I interested in romance, I wouldn’t settle for less than a Knightley or a Bingley,” answered the angel with a pout.

Hastur gasped. “But Bingley is NICE! I can’t be _nice_ ! It’s _disgusting_!”

 _Well it may be disgusting to you, but_ he _at least got his angel in the end_ , thought Aziraphale’s sarcastic side.

* * *

Crowley was starting to worry. Well, not worry, no; no self-respecting demon would _worry_ , but- Aziraphale should have been back by now. That angel loved his shop, and never missed his one o’clock tea if he could help it.

He could have decided to stay out, evidently. Met a particularly lost soul and wanted to help them, wouldn’t be a first. But the one o’clock cup was _sacred_ , and what if something had _happened_ to him?

Unable to stay still, Crowley eased himself off his couch and started to pace the backroom, shooting involuntary glances at the cooling cup of tea every ten seconds*.

*the cold cocoa had ended in the sink a long time ago.

Should he do something? Maybe he should call. Would it be overbearing? It would, right?

Oh, _fuck it all_ ! If that stupid angel didn’t want to be bothered he should at least send a text to say he would be staying out late. They had an agreement after all. Always let the other know when they headed out. This _had_ to apply to coming back later than expected!

Feeling a little guilty, Crowley snatched his phone out of his pocket and dialed the familiar number. An offending sound resonated through the bookshop*. The demon grimaced. Of bloody course Aziraphale had forgotten his mobile. It had been hard enough to make him accept it in the first place.

*Aziraphale was lame at technology but had taken the time to learn how to apply _The_ _sound of music_ ’s tune to Crowley’s contact, like the bastard he was.

He pressed the _end call_ button with a snarl. Calling was one thing, materialising near his friend for no good reason was another one entirely. One month ago, he certainly would have, but today they were both pretty safe from Heaven and Hell’s ire, and there was no good reason to fret.

Right? Right.

He’d wait one more hour, he decided, then he’d go check.

He was about to sit (sprawl) back on the couch when an angry squeak draw his attention. Right in front of his left foot stood a very tiny, very fluffy, awfully angry white mouse.

“What do you want, you fucker?” barked the demon.

Algernon answered with a murderous, withering glare. There was no love lost between him and Crowley. Again, he squeaked imperiously something that could only be translated as “follow me, you moron”, and ran to the shop’s door.

Crowley was his own demon, and never obeyed _anyone’s_ orders. It was just that he needed a book, and said book was precisely where the mouse was heading.

All his pretence at cool disappeared when he saw the golden chain Algernon was pushing towards him. This was _Aziraphale’s_ watch chain.

“The _fuck_ ,” he murmured, crouching to touch it. No residual energy. None at all. It had been _cleaned_.

Crowley stayed still as a statue for a few seconds, then snatched his hand back as Algernon tried to bite it. “Oi! I’m on it, okay! Get lost, you little psychopath!”

Satisfied, the mouse ran under a shelf with a sound that could only be described as a snigger. Crowley ran a hand through his hair, looking at the chain.

This was unbelievable. It was the _bookshop_ . Aziraphale had been… what? Attacked? Taken? Hurt? Was the angel _hurt_ ? How could something like this happen in his bloody _bookshop_?

He reached out, and tried to feel his friend’s presence. He had a knack for it, sensing where the angel was at any time. Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t find him. But it wasn’t the same empty feeling he’d had during Armageddon. So Aziraphale still had a corporation.

Someone was hiding the angel’s presence from him.

Straightening, he pocketed the watch chain and placed a hand on the nearest wall. Nothing should have been able to harm Aziraphale here, or at least not without the bookshop putting on a fight. And he would have warned Crowley as soon as he’d touched the door.

 _Yep_ , he thought darkly, feeling the shop’s presence bound and chained on another plane of reality. _Thank_ _S_ _omeone_ he hadn’t been destroyed. He took a moment to free the building’s spirit and then closed his eyes to let his old friend talk to him.

It was different from Bentley’s way of communicating. The shop was a strong, quiet, slow entity, who didn’t really care about the world outside his walls. There was only one thing the old building cared about: Aziraphale. And by extension everything important to the angel, meaning Crowley, Bentley, his mouse, and his books.

Bookshop was raging mad. The images flashing into Crowley’s mind were full of wrath and violence, and he had a hard time understanding what had happened exactly. When he did, though, his eyes flashed and he felt scales erupting all over his corporation.

“Freaking HASTUR!” he yelled, making every soul in a one mile radius shiver in their sleep, dreams turning into nightmares.

“Snatching _my_ angel*, binding _my_ bookshop, breaching our fucking _contract_ and trying to _**steal from me!**_ ”

*Possessiveness was a demonic instinct that tended to burst out when Crowley lost control. He was a little ashamed of it. Aziraphale belonged to no one, he was his own angel.

Bentley had rarely seen Father that angry, and didn’t even try to ask him what was going on. He wouldn’t have heard her anyway. She knew it had something to do with Aziraphale, though. Something had happened to their fair friend. She wasn’t stupid, nothing else could put Father in such a mood.*

*Except something happening to her, of course, but she was right there and felt pretty good.

The demon took place behind the wheel and growled an order that no one else could have deciphered, so distorted by rage and hissing was his voice.

“ **Find the angel, girl.”**

Bentley started to drive, aiming for the familiar, soft, comforting presence. She would have been very surprised to know she shouldn’t have been able to feel it. A Duke of Hell’s concealing spell was no small feat, after all.

But Bentley could always know where her angel was. So she drove.

* * *

“What on earth were you trying to do by bringing me here, Hastur? Do you really think suspending someone by their feet would help you gain their favour?”

Hastur’s lower lip was starting to wobble. It was the worst dressing down of his life, and he had no idea what to do. Aziraphale had been chiding him for the best part of an hour, and there didn’t seem to be any way to stop him.

He’d tried. He tried menacing, and yelling, and growling. That only had gotten him a blank stare.

He tried tempting him with a cup of tea, and that had earned him a scathing glare and an offended “A _teabag_? Really?” in a tone he already knew he would never be able to forget.

Not that he wanted to. Such levels of offence and disgust in Aziraphale’s tone were delightful to hear.

He didn’t try torture. Not that he didn’t _like_ torture, of course (who didn’t?). But there was no point in it. Beelzebub had once tried to break that angel for hours without success, and honestly, if the master of torments themselves couldn’t do it, no one could.

Hastur was starting to wonder if he shouldn’t just free the angel after all and try another approach. Maybe Aziraphale would go all smitey on him and discorporate him painfully? One could hope, right?

Then someone knocked at the door.

“Oh, _finally_ ,” huffed the angel.

“Angel? You here?” asked Crowley’s muffled voice.

“What took you so long?” answered Aziraphale, glaring daggers at the door, which promptly fell from its hinges.

“Oh! Oh, I’m _dreadfully_ sssorry,” hissed Crowley, slithering inside, barely recognisable. “Of bloody course you would complain about me being tardy in _resscuing you_!”

Aziraphale’s scowl deserted his face, replaced by alarm. “For goodness’ sake, Crowley, what happened to you? Are you all right?”

“Am I- am I all right? Really? Are you kidding me? You’re the one hanging by the roof like a bloody ham!”

Crowley’s features were rapidly turning back to his usual, lanky corporation, black scales and fangs receding. Aziraphale was bitching, which meant he was _fine_. Well, except for the ‘hanging upside down’ part and the Duke of Hell snarling at them both.

“Hastur,” he crooned, baring his teeth. “I see you’ve broken our contract.”

Hastur grinned. That was _not_ a nice vision, thought Crowley. Certain things should stay hidden.

“I did not. Beelzebub did. Thought they were doing you a service, ha!”

 _Oh, great. Thank you so very much,_ _your Lordship of the_ _Fl_ _ies,_ thought Crowley with an inward sigh.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing, if I may ask?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “He is _wooing_ me,” he explained.

Crowley’s eyes widened, and a delighted chuckle escaped him. “Oh, oh this is _priceless_! So sorry to interrupt! Should I leave you two to it, then? I can come back later to pick you up if you want, angel, just give me a call when you’re finished.”

Hastur felt his heart sink at the venomous glare Aziraphale shot Crowley. He never had been the recipient of such vitriol.

Yet.

He couldn’t win Aziraphale with that blessed Crawly in the way, and was too terrified of Adam to arm that stupid snake.

“I will come back,” he promised, sinking into the floor. “This is not over! I will win you, Aziraphale! You’ll see I am a much more deserving demon than _him_!”

“He’s trying, you have to grant him that,” chuckled Crowley, grabbing the angel’s collar and snapping his fingers to dissolve the cursed bindings. Aziraphale landed a little unceremoniously on his feet and rubbed at his wrists, lips tight.

Crowley corked an eyebrow, eyes twinkling. Aziraphale was safe and sound, and he didn’t even have to use the vial of Holy Water that was carefully tucked in his jacket pocket*. “Aw, come on, angel, it was funny.”

*Knowing that Aziraphale had used more than one strong miracle on it to make sure said vial couldn’t break or open by accident was greatly easing the demon’s natural anxiousness.

“To you, maybe,” snapped the angel.

The demon frowned. “You’re not hurt, right?” he asked, starting to circle his friend in search of injuries.

Aziraphale straightened, incensed. “Not hurt? He offered me _teabag_ tea!”

Crowley was a demon, and always ready to have a good laugh at his friend. But even he wouldn’t be so cruel as to make fun of such obvious abuse. “Oh, bless… I’m sorry, Aziraphale. Let’s go home, I’ll prepare you a good oolong, right?”

“Thank you, my dear. You’re awfully considerate.”

“Shaddup, people could hear you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow's prompt is "In the hands of the enemy"  
> I've chosen to take the additional prompt "Pick Who Dies", because honestly it's a prompt I've ALWAYS loved, and I have so many ideas^^  
> See you tomorrow everyone!


	2. 2. In the hands of the enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt has been trusted with a very difficult task: to watch over the bookshop, and not sell anything.  
> Maybe Aziraphale should have add "not get into trouble" to the list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme 2 was "In the hands of the enemy", and I added the prompt "Pick Who Dies".
> 
> One of the prompts I didn't choose was "kidnapped", which is funny because it could have applied to yesterday story^^

Newt was having a great time this morning. He always had loved computers, but said love being (unfortunately) unilateral, he had learned to enjoy books at a young age. When technology was abandoning him,* he always sought refuge in fantasy and science fiction.

*Every three days, and in a blast that made the whole neighbourhood feel abandoned.

So, to him, being friends with a demon and an angel had an advantage very few people would think of.

The bookshop was old, and Aziraphale so reluctant (some would say ‘adamantly opposed’) to modernizing it that there wasn’t a thing in the building Newt couldn’t touch.

It was awfully restful, being able to browse, wander, and pick up any interesting object in view without fear of a black out.

The angel even went so far as to trust him with minding the shop while he had an errand to run, and that was why the young (ex) witch-finder was currently alone, reading in the comfortable, warm silence that only existed in a space full of books.

Aziraphale would be back shortly, Crowley was out* and would come to pick them up for lunch in a little while, and Anathema was buying ingredients for a new spell she was learning and would meet them at the restaurant with the baby.

*And had taken his cellphone with him with a _very_ pointed look in Newt’s direction.

So here he was, acting as manager for a shop. He didn’t even know how to open the till, and had said so to his angelic friend, which had elicited a beam that would have put the sun to shame.

“Do not worry, my dear, you will not have to sell a thing! I shan’t be mad, you have my word.”

“He _shall_ be mad if you _do_ sell something, though,” Crowley had warned in an ominous whisper before heading out.

Newt was tempted to think that particular advice hadn’t been a joke. He had considered closing up, but an exchange of texts with Anathema taught him it would be considered ‘cheating’ according to Aziraphale’s rules.

So he sat at the angel’s desk with a Ray Bradbury and prepared himself for the possibility of having to say ‘no’ to someone. Newt wasn’t good at this, but he knew his friend loved his books almost like they were his children, and he would certainly not hesitate to throw the two letter word at anyone trying to buy his daughter.

The bell jingled, and Newt bit his lip with that slight rush of annoyance one always experienced when interrupted in the middle of an engrossing chapter.

A look at the entryway froze him on the spot.

These were probably not customers, he thought cleverly. Customers usually didn’t carry handguns, which two of the newcomers did.

The third wasn’t armed, and he was by far the most terrifying of the three. He looked like he could snap Newt in two with only one hand.

It said a lot about Newt’s sense of self-preservation that his first thought at the sight was _Oh, thank God they’re not here to buy anything_.

Thugs number One and Two stood by the door with their gun carefully pointed in Newt’s general direction.*

*Newton’s brain was clinically analysing range and trajectories, and wasn’t very optimistic about the outcome, were a shooting to start.

“Where is Mr. Fell’s spouse?” Asked Thug number Three.

“How do you know it isn’t me?” answered Newt’s mouth without his consent.

“The boss said he’s married to a sexy ginger,” snapped Thug number One in a melodic voice. Newt shot her a look.

He was all for parity. Menacing people at gunpoint was, in his opinion, a bad decision that ladies could make just as well as men if they so chose, but it didn’t mean they had to be _rude_. He could be sexy if he wanted to.

“So what?” he asked haughtily, straightening.

“You’re not a red-head,” said Thug number Three.

“You’re not sexy,” said Thug number One.

“You’re not a woman,” said Thug number Two.

Newt and his two colleagues looked at Two.

“Seriously, Nat?” wondered Three. “You expected a woman? Have you _looked_ at Fell?”

Two blushed furiously. “Oï, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing! I just didn’t expect it! The _boss_ said his spouse was sexy!”

The woman thug rolled her eyes. “Have you _looked_ at our boss, Nat?”

Newt cleared his throat. As entertaining as Two’s existential crisis was, he was being threatened here, and intended to be treated with professionalism*.

*We talked about Newt’s self-preservation sense already. It hadn’t improved in the last minute.

“Can you tell me what you want to ask Crowley?” he inquired politely.

“That’s not your business,” dead-panned One.

“It kind of is, now,” objected Three with a shark’s smile, putting on leather gloves.

 _Oh, leather gloves are not a good omen_ , thought Newt, looking around and wishing that he had something to throw to cover an escape.*

*He didn’t even think about using a book. Some things are inconceivable.

The bell jingled again. Newt’s face lightened like a Christmas tree.

“Don’t move!” barked Two, who had recovered from his discovery quicker than expected.

Crowley didn’t even look at him, or at the gun that was pointed to his temple. His mouth was pressed in a firm line, and he was looking at Newt.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” answered Newton apologetically.

The demon’s jaw unclenched.

“Guys-” he started, before stopping himself and nodding slightly to One. “And ladies. What do you think you’re doing exactly? Do you have any idea of the place you’re in?”

“Of course we do,” cut Three in a cold tone. “Now come here and sit on that chair. You,” he added to Newt, “will sit on this one.”

He opened his satchel and pulled out a thin rope.

“Kinky,” observed Crowley with a grin.

* * *

Aziraphale opened the door with a certain spring in his steps. He had finally found a sealing wax in the exact shade he needed, dear Anathema and Newt were in town for the week with baby Fyre, and he was about to eat in one of his favourite sushi places.

Such a good way to start October.

“Not another step, Fell!”

 _Oh, bother_ , thought the angel, closing his eyes. _I didn’t even hang my coat yet_.

Some burglars just didn’t have any decency.

He looked around, and huffed in exasperation at the sight that greeted him. Crowley and poor Newt, both bound on chairs, with a gun to their heads.

The man who had spoken pointed to Crowley.

“We have a proposition, Mr. Fell. Our _last_ proposition, to be exact. Sell your shop, or your dear husband won’t live until next anniversary.”

“The bookshop is not for sale,” answered Aziraphale shortly.

He was a patient being, but this particular fellow had come twice already and had been given the same answer. This would grate on anyone’s nerves.*

*Plus, the angel was starting to feel peckish.

Three shrugged, unfazed. “Then I guess you will have to say goodbye to your other half.”

He turned to Crowley, who looked back innocently. Aziraphale was certain that his friend was fluttering his eyelashes behind his sunglasses. Being held hostage by clueless humans was one of his favourite games.

“You know what?” asked Three like he just had an idea. “I’ll let you choose. Your husband, or your clerk. Pick which one will die today.”

The angel blinked. “Why, Crowley of course. Poor Newton needs his body to survive.”

“Thank you,” said Newton.

“You are very welcome, dear.”

Three’s patience snapped. “If that’s the way you want to play it, then we’ll kill the clerk and take your husband with us. I’ll come back tomorrow, and I hope you will finally be more opened to discussion.”

Aziraphale tutted. “Oh, I am afraid I cannot condone that, young man.”

He snapped his fingers, and Thug number Three vanished. One and Two gasped, before realizing that their weapons had disappeared too.

“Now, young people, you will go back and tell your _boss_ that I want to be left alone.”

“What have you done to Jay?” yelled One.

“Well I have to teach your employer a lesson, haven’t I? Let him understand that threatening other people’s husbands isn’t nice at all. He will find _his_ partner safe and sound in Manchester. Now, if you could please leave, we are late for our lunch reservation and I do not want to worry Chief Omi.”

Crowley craned his neck as the two leaderless fellows scampered*, and snapped his fingers behind his back. Aziraphale frowned as the ropes fell to the floor. The demon smiled.

*Thug number Two was trying to keep at bay his second epiphany of the day, at least long enough to get out of this damned shop. He’d always thought that the reason Jay lived in their boss’ mansion was to act as a bodyguard.**

**Everyone at work was wondering _when_ he would get the true meaning of the word “partner”. There were bets.

“You know, that guy didn’t intend to kill us. He only wanted to scare you. Pretty decent for a crime lord, I’d say,” said Crowley, who had seen in the three humans' mind.

“I know, my dear. That is why I let them go. The guns weren’t even loaded.”

“Just saying you’ve been a little harsh, is all,” pouted Crowley. “Sending him to _Manchester_ of all places was a low blow.”

“Well,” sniffed Aziraphale primly, straightening his waistcoat, “if he isn’t ready to have that sort of nasty experience, he should have chosen a different career.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow's theme is "My way or the highway", and I've chosen the prompt "Forced to their knees" 
> 
> And I'm realizing (again) that one of the other alternative prompts for N°3 is "Held at gunpoint" and could have been used today.  
> I'm starting to discern a pattern :D


	3. 3-My Way or the Highway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a game can turn into tragedy very fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for almost drowning. Everything ends well, but I prefer to warn.
> 
> I had a hard time writing that one! First, I wrote an entire story before deciding it needed to brew in a corner. Then I started on this one, with the prompt "Manhandled", didn't like it, and rewrote a good chunk of it.  
> Anyway, here it is. I rewrote so much of it I have NO idea if it's any good.  
> Sorry for the delay. Next one will be posted today too^^.

There was a war going on. It had lasted all summer, and wasn’t about to stop. Who was going to rule other Kerren’s Keep?

Today’s battle had been harsh, but had taken a decisive turn when the opposition's first captain had been captured and dragged to the Johnsonites’ headquarters.

Greasy looked at his hostage with a satisfied smile.

“Let me _go_!” demanded Wensleydale.

The boy who held his right arm shook him. “You’re our prisoner now, so shut it, or we’ll **make you**!”

Wensley raised his chin. “ _A_ _ctually_ , according to the Geneva Convention, you aren’t supposed to threaten me.”

The three Johnsonites looked at their leader. Greasy shrugged. “Put him in the Gaol.”

The Gaol was the Johnson’s old garden shed. It was small, old and rusty, and Greasy’s father had accepted to move it to the Johnsonite’s lair near the duckpond. Wensley shot a venomous glower to his jailers as they shut the door after pushing him in.

The boy looked around and sat down on the log that apparently served as prisoner’s chair.

“The others will come and free me,” he declared loudly.

“We’re waiting for them!” answered Greasy with a chuckle. “Guys, go ahead. I’ll guard the prisoner.”

His three friends grinned in anticipation before heading to the edge of the woods. They had spent their whole morning preparing for an ambush. Now that they had the bait, the trap was ready for the rest of the Them.

Silence fell for a minute. Greasy sat near the shed, nervously tapping his fingers against his knee. “There’s a glass of water behind the log if you’re thirsty,” he finally said.

Wensley looked. There was. He reached out and took a polite sip.

“You know we will win, right?” he said after another quiet moment. “We are way smarter, and we have a _dog_. Plus, _we_ are relentless.”

Greasy frowned. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“You weren’t on the battlefield yesterday. We waited for _hours *****_ ,” accused Wensley in a haughty tone before taking another sip of water.

 ***** Hours, in 12 years old’s language, meaning 37 minutes.

“I had American football training!” protested Greasy. “I’ve been accepted on the team and we started yesterday.”

“Well, you could have warned Adam. It was the polite thing to do.”

“I’m not talking to Adam bloody Young! We’re at war!”

“Grown-up leaders talk to each other when they’re at war,” pointed Wensley.

“Grown-ups are stupid,” objected Greasy.

Wensley nodded to himself. Difficult to argue to _that_. He thought for a moment, searching for a new subject of conversation. “Mrs Taggart is planning a surprise exam tomorrow.”

Greasy blinked and looked at the rusty door with awe. “Did you _spy_ on our teachers, Wensleydale?”

Wensley gasped, outraged. “Of course not!” *****

 ***** Brian had.

A loud cacophony of yelling and barking interrupted the conversation. Greasy shot to his feet. “I have to go. We’ll come back to free you after defeating your buddies.”

“In your dreams!” shouted Wensley, getting up and preparing to escape.

He waited a minute, hearing Greasy’s footsteps fade away. He’d felt the shed tremble when he’d walked in. It was very old, and very fragile. A good shoulder blow on the door may be enough to free him. Then he’d be able to join the fight.

Judging enough time had passed for Greasy to be out of chasing range, he took a step back, inhaled deeply, and ran as fast as possible, shoulder first.

The garden shed was indeed old and rusty. And it _had_ trembled when Wensley had walked in.

But the trembling wasn’t the result of decay, more of the extreme precarious position said shed was occupying.

Wensley felt it tumble, and fell to the floor _hard_ , the shock cutting his breath. That’s when he felt it. That sensation he always experienced in winter when Statford’s hill was covered in snow and he and his friends were sledding-

_Oh no._

Wensley was a smart boy. He always had been the one his friends turned to when some analysis was needed. And his brain was actually telling him, quite loudly, that he was aiming _right at the pond_.

His last coherent thought before the loud splash was that his mother was going to kill him if he broke his glasses.

Old, rusty sheds aren’t known for their impermeable qualities. Wensley barely had time to take a deep breath before water surrounded him.

He should try the door again. But he had no idea which way it was anymore and was starting to panic, which was not helping.

He had to focus and call for help! Think of someone to get him out of here! Adam! Mister Aziraphale! Mister Crowley! They would come and save him, right?

His right hand caught something familiar. _Door-handle!_ He tried to turn it, pushed and pulled, but it didn’t move and he was going to _die here_!

The door opened, and someone grabbed his collar, pulling him out swiftly. Then a strong hand caught his and dragged him towards the surface.

Wensley took a deep breath, coughed, took another breath, and looked around. Greasy’s head emerged near him and he met terrified eyes.

“Are you okay?” yelled Greasy.

Wensley nodded, unable to answer. He started to swim towards the shore, clutching the other’s hand like a lifeline, heart hammering in his chest, trying not to think about the fact that _Greasy Johnson_ had saved his life.

They both reached land at the same time, and suddenly a lot of people were there, pulling them apart, shouting and carrying them away from the pond.

“Wensley! Are you all right?” asked Crowley, golden eyes full of concern as the demon helped him sit down on the grass.

“What happened?” cried Brian.

“You’re _dead meat_ , Greasy!” yelled Pepper. She would have been a little more convincing if her voice weren’t trembling so much, thought Wensley. He felt a hand grab his shoulder, and looked up to meet Adam’s eyes. His friend had never looked so pale.

“All right, we all need to calm down. They are both safe and sound, that is the only thing that matters.”

Aziraphale’s voice cut through the haze fogging Wensley’s mind, and his hands stopped trembling. He felt as if a warm blanket was covering him like a soft cocoon, pushing the fear and adrenaline far away. Pepper stopped yelling and Brian and Nick (one of the Johnsonites) blinked frenetically to dry their eyes that _may_ have been a little too wet. *****

 ***** Pepper’s eyes had been leaking, too, but no one would ever talk about it or even pretend to have seen it.

“Adam, dear? Can the three of you please walk Wensleydale to your home? We will be there in a minute.” asked the angel in a stern voice.

Like in a dream, Wensley got up, Brian taking his arm with great care to help him to his feet. He felt Pepper squeeze his hand and looked back over his shoulder.

Greasy was still sitting in the grass, head bent, his friends gathered around him and shuffling their feet, Crowley scowling down at him and Aziraphale crossing his arms with a frown.

Wensley felt bad.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time,” whispered Adam next to him. He stopped thinking about the Johnsonites and turned to his best friend.

“It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“But I should have been here sooner.. I didn’t know they were going to hurt you. When they took you I thought it was part of the game and I didn’t use my powers.”

“It _was_ part of the game,” assured Wensley, shocked. “It was an accident.”

His friends stopped walking and turned to him with different frowns. “It looked like Greasy pushed you into the pond on purpose,” declared Pepper sternly.

Brian nodded, his eyes shooting daggers.

"No! He didn't do anything!" protested Wensley.

"Are you sure you're not saying it because you were hostage and now you think you like the Johnsonites?" wondered Adam, concerned.

Wensley huffed in exasperation “I don't have _Stockholm Syndrom_! Greasy _saved_ me! I fell into the pond and he helped me out!”

The Them exchanged startled looks. If Greasy Johnson had saved one of them, the balance of the world was in danger.

“He’s still our enemy,” finally decided Adam. “But we will let them have Kerren’s Keep.”

Pepper and Brian nodded in relieved approval. Yes, that should be enough to repay the debt, and they wouldn’t feel guilty next time they had to battle. Mind settled, the Them resumed their walk to Hogback’s Lane.

* * *

“What in Heaven were you thinking, young men?” asked Aziraphale, making the Johsonites look at their feet in shame. “Do you realise how dangerous your actions have been?”

“We didn’t want it to happen!” said Greasy, looking up. “We didn’t know the shed would fall!”

“Locking someone inside a shed isn’t funny anyway,” cut Crowley.

“We didn’t intend to leave him inside for long,” said one of the Johnsonites.

“We put a glass of water in the shed,” provided the second.

Angel and demon exchanged a glance. Crowley shrugged, then turned to Greasy.

“That was pretty brave to dive after him, boy. Stupid of you to lock him in to start with, but kudos on the quick response.”

“I didn’t want to hurt him, I swear.” said Greasy, miserable.

Aziraphale sighed and reached out. “We know that. But really, my dear, don’t lock the door next time you’re pretending to take a prisoner.”

The boy looked at him, opened his mouth, closed it and nodded, taking the offered hand to get up before walking away with his friends, surprised to be let off the hook so easily.

Crowley quirked an eyebrow. “They thought we were going to have them punished.”

“It was an accident,” answered his friend, watching Greasy’s retreat and using a discreet miracle to dry his clothes as much as possible without it being to noticeable. “The poor boy had been punished enough already. Wensleydale is the last person he would wish to see hurt.”

Crowley frowned. He knew this tone of voice. There was something the angel wasn’t telling him. “What does _that_ mean, exactly?”

Aziraphale let out an embarrassed cough. “Well… it may be possible that young Johnson is quite _fond_ of Wensleydale.”

Crowley blinked a few time. Then _beamed_.

“Oh, boy, that’s better than TV!”

“Really dear, there is no reason to laugh.”

“Come on angel, it’s a true live tragedy! Romeo and Juliet, only with unrequited feelings. Poor boy.”

Aziraphale brushed an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve. “Who said it was unrequited? Wensleydale could have easily avoided capture. I guess they both wanted to talk to the other.”

Crowley gasped, scandalized. “But it’s the leader of the _enemies_! He’s Adam’s Arch-nemesis, angel!”

“Really, dear, don’t you think you are a little ill placed to talk like this?”

The demon tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well…” he drawled, “I guess it’s not necessarily a _bad_ thing to appreciate one’s adversary.”

“You old softie,” chuckled Aziraphale.

“Am _NOT_! I’m just happy ‘cause there will be a lot of drama to enjoy.”

“Does that mean you will not try to help them if the time ever comes?” asked the angel with a knowing smile.

“Course not! I’m a demon! I love drama!”

“Oh, yes,” murmured Aziraphale, heading towards the village. “I forgot how much you _adored_ tragedy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next prompt is "Running out of time" and I will probably use "Buried alive".  
> It MAY be whumpier than usual.


	4. 4-Running out of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leslie and Maud have been living in perfect harmony since Armageddon.  
> Unfortunately, someone is aiming to burst their happy bubble...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is "Burried Alive".  
> I guess I should put a trigger warning here for... well, burried alive.
> 
> But as always, happy ending guaranteed, dear readers!

**Monday**

_Last warning. Deliver us the object, or else..._

Leslie looked at the sheet of paper he’d found in his mailbox. It was the third letter in three weeks. The first one had been tucked under his delivery van’s wiper, the second _in_ the van.

But they knew his address now...

Leslie bit his lip. Maybe he should go to the police. But what if it was only a hoax?

He would wait one more day, talk about it with Maud, and make a decision tomorrow.

* * *

**Thuesday**

Maud was struggling and kicking, but with her hands tied behind her back she had no chance against the two men that pushed her inside the coffin. They put the lid on, the first one ignoring her muffled begging and cries for help with a bored expression, the second one smiling widely.

It only took a few minutes to lower the coffin into the deep hole in the cemetery, and a few more to fill it with earth using the small excavator. When the men left the place, no one could have guessed someone was there, banging on the planks and calling out.

* * *

“Where is my wife?” asked Leslie as he entered the warehouse.

The man that had let him in pushed him in the back. “Shut up, and talk only when you’re talked to.”

“You said you would release her if I came,” demanded Leslie, ignoring the guard and looking straight at the woman facing him in her expensive suit, her bodyguard hovering behind her right shoulder.

“I said we would release her in exchange for the object. Did you bring it?” said the woman, not even looking up from her phone.

Leslie held out the box. It was difficult to miss. Just long and wide enough to contain, let’s say, a sword.

“I have it here. Take it and release her.”

She sighed heavily as her phone let out an unhappy sound. “Shit, that was my last life,” she murmured, putting the phone in the pocket of her vest. She finally looked up to Leslie. “Get it out. I want to check if it’s the real deal.”

Hurriedly, Leslie opened the box and put it on the floor. “See? It’s not a fake one. Please release my wife now!”

“It is supposed to have flames. Where are the flames?” asked the woman, walking around the box with interest.

“I have no idea! You said you would release Maud-”

“Oh, stop it with your wife for one second and turn that thing on, or I will give her back to you piece by piece.”

The bodyguard chuckled. Leslie pinched his lips and straightened his back.

“This is a _very_ nasty thing to say, madam. I had no intention of actually demonstrating anything, but since you insist so much, I guess I will have to oblige,” he declared in a voice that didn’t sound like Leslie at all.

In a heartbeat, the bodyguard drew his weapon and aimed at the delivery man, waiting for orders.

Leslie reached down, took the sword, and lifted it like it was a part of his own body. It erupted into flames.

“Really,” he murmured, eyeing it in distaste, “I’d rather see you gather dust on a shelf, where you belong.”

The woman gasped, incensed.

“Shoot him!”

“I was talking to the sword!” shrieked Leslie one second before the shooting begun.

* * *

Maud had fallen into a deep slumber when she heard something hit her wooden prison. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and squinted them as the coffin’s lid disappeared.

“Ouch! Too much light!” she groaned, shielding her eyes.

Aziraphale’s face appeared in front of her, apologetic. “So sorry, dear. Are you quite all right?”

“Was napping. Being buried alive is so _boring_. Did you get them all?”

“I did. They are all waiting at the police station with every incriminating document I could find,” assured the angel, reaching out, hand outstretched.

Maud clasped it and clumsily stood up.

“High heels are not made for… whatever _this_ is,” she declared with a pout, looking at the churned up earth around them before snapping her fingers, the illusion around her clearing up. Maud’s face turned into Crowley’s feminine one.

“You did not break them I hope?” asked Aziraphale anxiously. “We promised to give the clothes back without a scratch!”

“Yes, angel, the bloody _heels_ are fine. I’m okay too, in case you wondered. Just been _buried alive_ for hours, nothing to worry about.”

“Jolly good then,” declared the angel with a beam, patting her on the shoulder and ignoring the death glare she shot him. “Let us go, my dear. That poor man was very worried, and I want to reassure him as soon as possible. I am _so_ glad he decided to call us.”

“Oh yeah, right. _Reassure_ him. Getting your bloody clothes back has nothing to do with the rush, right?”

Aziraphale grimaced and tugged at the collar to his too tight delivery uniform. “But Crowley, it is _polyester_!” he whined.

The demon rolled his eyes and sighed, half fond, half exasperated. “All right, let’s go then. But don’t you dare say _anything_ about my driving!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a short one^^  
> Tomorrow's theme is "Where do you think you're going?", with the additional prompts "failed escape/rescue"


	5. 5-Where do you think you're going?

**3004 BC, Mesopotamia.**

_She ran as fast as she could, far away from the rain and the noise. But she wasn’t fast enough, she knew it._ He _was still gaining on her, right behind her, about to catch her and grab her-_

“ _Where do you think you’re going?” asked a terrifying voice._

_ A hand caught her leg, making her stumble, and she kicked back, glad to hear a muffled cry in response.  _ _ A rope tightened around her neck and she cried in ange _ _ r, turning around to face her opponent, wrath and bloodlust burning inside her. She hadn’t been asking for a fight, but that one had crossed the line and would soon regret it _ _. _

_ Blue eyes met hers, and widened as her captor suddenly realised his  _ _ harmless prey  _ _ had turned into a  _ _ vicious  _ _ predator. _

“ _Oh, fuck!” she heard before charging._

  
  


**3003 BC, Tasmania.**

Aziraphale looked around hesitantly. Next to him, Crawly nodded with a grin.

“Perfect spot, white wings. Let’s do it here.”

“I am not entirely sure, Crawly. What if-”

The demon buried his head in his hands with a groan. “Not  _ this _ again! It’s been a bloody  _ year _ , Aziraphale! You said ‘no’ to the frozen continent, you said ‘no’ to that cute archipelago. You said ‘no’ to the last, perfectly decent islands because they were too bloody  _ hot _ ! I’m  done ! Water has gone down for weeks! Either we re lea se them here or you’re doing whatever you want with them on your own, but I won’t go any further!”

The angel looked down at his hands meekly,  anxiously tapping his fingers together. Cr a wly made a face, and refused to feel guilty. Aziraphale was way too irresolute, and needed to learn. The demon was  doing him a favour by teaching him decisiveness.

Yes, a favour, absolutely. Anyway, the beasts needed to be let free*. It had been almost a year. Almost against his will, Cr a wly softened his voice. “They’ll be fine here. Lot of things to eat, and space to run. It’s gonna be great.”

***** Plus, they had started to reproduce, and the ship wasn’t wide enough.

Aziraphale looked around in anguish. “But what if they can’t survive on their own? I don’t see any  eucalyptus ! What will the little grey bear s eat?”

“Who cares? The male one almost ripped my eye off the other day!” grumbled Crawly, earning himself some tutting.

“I know you are fond of them, don’t try to deny it.”

“We can miracle some trees. And you’ll bless the land so it helps them survive. It’s going to be fine.”

Again, Aziraphale looked around. “It will need regular blessing if we want it to take. At least for the first decade.”

The demon rolled his eyes. “I guess I’ll lend a hand.  If you need help.  Technically, I  _ can _ bless. Just… don’t go spreading it around, all right?”

The angel glared. “Who do you want me to tell it  to ?” he hissed. “I am  working with the enemy ! If I get caught doing this with you-”

“That’s precisely why we have to stop here! Do you think my bosses would be happy to know I _saved_ some creatures?”

“Well God said to save every species,” said Aziraphale with a pout. “She never said marsupials should be left behind. Noah had dreadful prejudice. I am only doing my job as an angel in saving these poor creatures.”

Crawly pursued his lips in distaste. He didn’t like any talk about the  G reat freaking  P lan.

“Okay, white wings. Go start on your blessings, I’ll free the animals.”

Crawly waited a long time after the last creature had r u n away, wanting to make sure the angel was out of sight. Then he got back inside the boat (a smaller version of the Ark that Aziraphale had created with a particularly huge miracle) and opened the  _ secret room _ _***** _ he was the only one to know  about . Thirteen pair of eyes looked up at him.

“All right, kids, everybody out, we’re home!” he declared with a large smile.

A cheer answered him. Crawly laughed.

***** It was the most _secret_ room of all time. The angels had been told in no uncertain terms that humans, save for Noah’s family, shouldn’t be saved. So Crawly had to keep the kids out of the angel’s view. It wasn’t that difficult. Aziraphale wasn’t very present onboard, spending most of his time flying in search of a hospitable land to unload their precious cargo. And when the angel _was_ there, he never suspected, not even once, the presence of said room or its occupants. In fact, he never even _looked_ in its general direction, and seemed to be hit by quite frequent bouts of deafness every time the kids got too loud in their play.

A few hours later, once the children were settled comfortably in a clearing a few miles away, the demon greeted his angelic counterpart near the boat.

“I imagine I should sink it, now. Erase all evidence of our… interference,” said Aziraphale.

“Yup. That would be a smart move.”

The angel raised his hand, hesitated, and glanced at his nemesis warily. “You got  _ all _ the creatures out, didn’t you?”

Crawly smiled, and it was a little softer than his usual grin. “Not a living soul on board. Cross my heart.”

  
  


**2955 BC, Tasmania.**

“It’s your fault!”

“My fault? MY fault? You were the one who was worried they wouldn’t have enough to eat!”

Angel and demon turned their backs to each other, brooding. After a minute, Aziraphale huffed and looked over his shoulder.

“All right, maybe I got _a little_ carried away. What do you suggest?”

“Well, they certainly _did_ grow and multiply *****. I suggest we miracle most of them on the continent nearby and leave a _reasonable_ amount here to live in peace.”

***** They had. Cr a wly had been forced to transport the human s he’d saved and their families to Australia a few months ago, so important was the population of kangaroos. No one would ever had guessed it, but apparently there  _ was _ such a thing as too m uch kangaroos,  and you couldn’t enter a home without finding at least three of them wrecking havoc inside.

“Fair enough,” reckoned the angel. “We can leave the carnivores here, they are not in excess. And I will be more careful on my next blessings.”

“ _What_? What do you mean, your _blessings_? Don’t you think you’ve done enough already?”

“But Crawly, we are moving them to a strange land! They will need to eat! What if there is no eucalyptus there?”

Crawly gaped, unable to find an answer. *****

***** A _polite_ answer, that is.

**639, Australia.**

“I am so relieved!” exclaimed Aziraphale as they both appeared in the middle of a forest. “To think you would cross his path in _Scotland_ , of all places! I have been there countless times and never even suspected his presence! I was starting to lose hope, to be quite honest.”

“Oh, you of little faith,” mocked Crowley. “I always knew we would find him one day or another. Divine flood excepted, there’s not a lot that can kill them. Now we just have to catch ours, miracle her there, and we’ll have cute babies unicorns running around the lochs in no time.”

A long silence settled between the two of them. Aziraphale tapped his fingers against his leg.

“ _Angel_ ,” said Crowley in a honeyed tone. 

His friend looked pointedly away,  crossing his arms . “ I did it last time, it is your turn.”

The demon conjured his most enticing voice.  “Heaven would be impressed  were you the one to do it , that’s for sure. Unicorns are  _ divine _ , after all. And they all think they were extinct.  Y ou’ll have a commendation for it. Real feather in your wing, that.”

“You will not tempt me, you serpent!” squeaked the angel, avoiding his eyes. Crowley tilted his head. He knew his angel’s weakest spot and was ready to use it against him.

“Aziraphale… it has been ss _so_ long, they must miss each other _very_ much. It would be such a blessssing to help them reunite.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Crowley  carefully repressed a victorious grin.

“I am warning you, Crowley,” said the angel in a stern voice as he walked away, miracling a rope in his hand. “If she kicks me again, I won’t talk to you for the next decade!”


	6. 6-Please...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it comes to plants, Crowley is always the one doing the threatening, and the green bastards are the ones doing the fearing.  
> Not the other way around.  
> Our demon is about to have a nasty surprise...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is "Stop, please."
> 
> Not going to lie, this one will hurt 😁  
> It IS whumptober after all! Ready for some hurt?
> 
> Comfort will be there of course!!

Crowley always had been curious. His greatest weakness, to be honest. Already put him in more than half of his biggest troubles. But on this sunny August day, he didn’t think about trouble as he saw _it_.

It was a gorgeous plant, lustrous, green leafed, full of pale buds promising to bloom soon. The demon was accustomed to beautiful plants. That’s not what had caught his eye. It was the fact that he never seen this plant before.

Not that one in particular, but the species. He never saw its equal. Never, even in Eden.

Admittedly, Crowley hadn’t seen all of Eden at the time, but he’d roamed over earth from its beginning and was almost certain to have seen it all, botanically speaking. Such a finding was very unlikely.

In a flower shop in the middle of Soho? Freaking impossible. Hence the curiosity.

So of course, Crowley had to buy it and bring it home. The plant had to have at least some magic in its origins. Better take it and study it, if only to keep humans safe, right? And if he ended with a unique, one of its kind, gorgeous plant in the process, then that was just a coincidence.

It took four days for the plant to bloom. Then things got a little pear shaped.

Down like a freaking lead balloon.

He knew that something had gone awfully wrong the instant the first bud bloomed right in front of his nose, pollen springing to his face aggressively, making him sneeze.

He felt the spell at work instantly, and blessed out loud, fumbling into his pocket for his phone.

He was already starting to feel dizzy as he dialed the angel’s number. By the time Aziraphale’s familiar voice answered, Crowley was out cold, sprawled on the floor, right under the flower pot on the counter.

In it, its purpose served, the plant was wilting at high speed.

* * *

Crowley came to his senses in a blur. He could hear a voice calling his name, without a sound.

 _Telepathic voice_ , provided his foggy brain.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. An angelic face smiled in relief.

“Crowley! Oh thank the Lord! What happened? How do you feel?”

Good question. He was feeling… well he was annoyed. That stupid angel was looking at him like he was fragile or hurt. He was a _demon_ , for crying out loud! He didn’t need a mother hen!

“What are you doing here, Aziraphale?” he grunted, trying to sit up. The angel reached out to help him and he batted the offensive hand away.

“I can bloody sit on my own!”

“So sorry, dear. Are you quite all right? What happened to you? Were you attacked?”

“I’m _fine_ , no need to fret.”

“Crowley, you were unconscious! That is not _fine_ by any standard!”

“You’re overreacting, angel. Told you I’m fine, let it go.”

“I shall certainly _not_!”

Crowley buried his face in his hands with a frustrated groan. He just wanted to be alone, with no noisy angel around. “Why are you so fucking _annoying_?”

“Because you _fainted_ on our kitchen floor, Crowley! Of course I am concerned! I need to know how you are feeling-”

Crowley sprang to his feet and towered over his roommate. “Don’t worry, I’ll be able to drive you to the restaurant tomorrow as planned,” he assured with a cold grin.

Aziraphale squinted, tightening his lips. “You know that’s not what I worry about! Stop trying to change the subject!”

The demon leaned in, his eyes fully yellow, black scales tingling right under his skin, ready to burst out. He’d rarely felt that _angry_. If Aziraphale wanted to be his annoying self, he would be too. Two could play that game. “Leave me the _fuck_ alone and go back to your books, angel. We both know that’s what you want anyway.”

Aziraphale blinked, confusion replacing his anger. “What are you… of course not! I am worried about you, Crowley! What I want is to know what happened to you!”

The demon nodded. “Oh, yes. Right. No worry, it’s nothing dangerous to you. No enemy ready to attack or anything. Everything’s tickety boo. Feeling better?”

“What… why on earth would I feel better? You are obviously unwell!”

“Since when do you care about my welfare, angel?” chuckled Crowley, amused.

That got him a hurt look. “My dear, of course I care. You know I do.”

“Na-ha, angel, I know nothing of the sort. The reason you care is because I’m the only being patient enough to stand you and your...” he gestured towards the angel, raising an eyebrow in contempt. “… your Aziraphale-ness. Without me, you’d got no one to acknowledge you.”

The angel stammered. Then straightened his back and clasped his hands to stop wringing them. “Something is wrong with you, dear boy.”

“Fuck yeah, something’s wrong! I’m still here, that’s what’s wrong! Still putting up with the most needy, _ridiculous_ angel that ever existed!”

Aziraphale blanched, biting his lips. “You’re… something is making you saying this. What happened to you, Crowley? Please tell me!”

Crowley laughed darkly. “And what would you _do_ about it, exactly? Had anything _happened_ _to me_? You’re _useless_ , Aziraphale! Not even able to save yourself! I’m the one saving your sorry angelic arse every time you get a stupid idea into your head. I’m the one cheering you up when you remember how much of a failure you are! I’m the only person that deigns to talk to you, and you have no idea how much of a chore _that_ is! I always have to drive you places, to listen to your stupid ramblings, to wait for you because you just can’t decide on anything without _at least_ half an hour of ridiculous pondering! You embarrass me every time you open your mouth in front of humans, because you’re too _lazy_ to learn the proper language of the time you’re living in! You don’t even know how to _dress_ without drawing attention!”

“Please, stop,” murmured the angel, hands trembling.

Crowley scoffed, a cruel smirk upturning the corner of his mouth. Aziraphale’s obvious hurt was like nectar to his soul.

“Stop? Oh, I’m _sorry_ , am I _bothering_ you? Right, no problem, I’ll shut up, like I always do. No worry, angel. I’ll pretend to be perfectly fine as always, that’s much more easy than asking you to try to be bloody _normal_ for once in your life. No wonder Heaven was so eager to get rid of you. Guess they were _relieved_ to see you rebel, gave them the opportunity. You know what Gabriel told you? To _shut your fucking mouth and die already_. That’s not very angelic, but there’s days I can certainly understand him.”

He looked Aziraphale up and down, nodded in satisfaction at his heartbroken expression, and turned on his heels, aiming for the stairs. “I’ll be out for the night. Try not to discorporate yourself for a few hours, will you?”

A burst of Grace overflowed him suddenly, and he looked back to see what exactly was happening behind. His last vision was one of Aziraphale, eyes glowing Heavenly light, wings outstretched, pouncing on him, hand raised.

 _Oh. That’s gonna hurt_ , he thought distantly.

* * *

Coming back to his sense for the second time in less than six hours was not on Crowley’s list of favourite things. This time, though, he was feeling warm and comfortable.

Again, he tried to open his eyes and focus, and the sight greeting him was exactly the same.

Concerned angel.

“Ziraphale?”

His friend’s face relaxed a little. “Yes, my dear. How do you feel?”

The demon tried to move, then grunted. “Like I got run over by a fucking bus. Double decker.”

That earned him a smile. A very tense, very small smile.

“I’m fine, angel. Swear. What happened?”

Aziraphale’s eyes darted away nervously before focusing onto him again. “It appears you were poisoned by one of your plants. It was supposed to bring discord to humans, but you bought it instead. Its pollen was cursed, I could sensed it as soon as I... hmm, was able to analyse the situation. I sent a strongly-worded letter to Hell, and Beelzebub sent Dagon to bring us the antidote. According to them, it was a not very clever idea from some young demon, a certain Eric…”

Crowley groaned and tried to move, realizing for the first time that he was lying on the back-room couch. “Eric! Of course it was fucking ERIC!”

“Oh,” said the angel, helping him sitting up and placing a pillow at his back. “So you know him, then?”

“Who doesn’t? He’s a pain in the ass. Hive demon. He’s got like thousands of occult bodies for one mind. Let me tell you the intelligence is _not_ proportional. He’s the one who offered Hellfire to satanists that one time you almost got destroyed. Every time someone has a very _bad_ idea it’s either him or Hastur.”

“Poor fellow,” murmured Aziraphale.

“Don’t feel _sorry_ for him, stupid!” snapped Crowley, disgusted. Really, that was so _Aziraphale_ , pitying someone who didn’t deserve it.

The reaction to his words was oddly strong. The angel tensed, withdrew into himself like a snail in its shell, and shut down entirely. Crowley knew him enough to _see_ metaphorical curtains close between then.

He frowned, and tilted his head. “Angel?”

Aziraphale avoided his eyes. “Yes, dear?”

“What happened while I was out cold?”

“Nothing. You just slept,” answered the angel in a hurry.

Crowley squinted. “Really?”

“I swear it is the truth. Now do you want something to drink, dear boy?”

But Crowley could smell nervousness. It always made him all tingly, in a good way (he was a demon after all). Something was off. Aziraphale was hiding something from him. He’d swore it wasn’t anything that happened during his forced nap, and if the angel was very gifted at bending the truth, he couldn’t utter a convincing lie to save his life.

It had to have happened before then. When he was still conscious.

What had the angel said about that freaking pollen? Supposed to bring discord amongst humans?

He closed his eyes and ordered his thoughts. Immortal entities like them didn’t know oblivion, and never forgot a thing. You could put a memory away, but it would still be there, clear as the moment you’d lived it, when you’d got back to look at it a thousand years later.

He didn’t have to search for long. First, he understood why his head was hurting that much. Aziraphale’s left hook was nothing to laugh at. Second… well, second was problematic. Crowley felt sick as he recalled his exact words.

The down side of knowing someone more than you knew yourself? If hit by a cursed pollen designed to make you hurt people with your words, you knew precisely where and how to strike for maximum damage.

“Errr… angel? About earlier...”

“No need to talk about it,” Aziraphale cut in. “It was the pollen.”

“You know I don’t think any of that, right?”

Still evading his gaze, the angel smoothed the already perfectly straight blanket covering Crowley’s legs.

“Aziraphale,” insisted the demon sternly. His friend finally stopped fidgeting with the cover and looked at him.

“I am so sorry, Crowley.”

The demon grimaced, trying to understand why on earth his angel felt the need to apologise to him. “Ah, no problem. Knocking me out was the right thing to do.”

Aziraphale frowned slightly, then nodded absent-mindedly. “Oh, I know that. I couldn’t let you out when you were obviously not yourself. No, I am sorry about… about what you said.”

Before the stunned demon could talk, he added “We both know there was truth to everything you said, my dear. Of course I know you didn’t think it, but… I also know I can sometimes be quite a handful, and-”

“Angel,” cut Crowley, feeling his insides twist painfully. “Angel, stop. Just… stop talking, I beg you.”

He reached out carefully to take his friend’s hand. “Can you do something for me?”

Aziraphale looked at him sharply. “Anything, my dear.”

“All right then. Imagine I didn’t get hit by that freaking pollen. Imagine _you_ did, okay? And try to think about everything you’d tell me, everything you know would hurt the most.”

The angel’s eyes widened in horror. “Crowley...”

“And then,” cut the demon, “picture me _apologising_ for all the awful things you’d have thrown at me. How would you feel, then?”

 _Oh, good. Perfect end to a perfect day_ , thought Crowley, scanning the angel’s face. _Making an angel cry._

But he didn’t really have a choice. He needed to drive his point home, and sooner rather than later.

“Aziraphale. You’re a fussy, epicurean, pig-headed angel, and that’s only some of the reasons I like you so much. You’re _you_ , you don’t have to change a thing, all right?”

The angel let out a weak, wet laugh. “I will remind you of that next time you complain about how long it takes me to get ready for the theatre.”

“Even fucking divas are faster, angel,” sighed Crowley, trying and failing to hide his relieved smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, that was a hard one, believe me, and it was hard to write too-
> 
> Who am I kidding? I LOVED writing that one. honest, it's one of my favourite. what can I say? I'm a demon^^
> 
> Ok, so to fluff this up, next one will be cute. I promise^^
> 
> The prompt is "enemy to caretaker"


	7. 7-I've got You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right after crèpes, Aziraphale settles into his bookshop, planning its opening.  
> But something is delaying the big day...

**1793, Soho.**

“Soooo… this is your bookshop, then?” asked Crowley, trying very hard not to judge.

He was. He was judging very hard. What was all that clutter? There were crates everywhere, and the empty shelves were taking all the remaining space. Why was it so _dark_ when there were windows on the bloody _roof_?

There was dust just everywhere. The demon grimaced inwardly. It reminded him a little too much of Hell.

At least it wasn’t damp.

“What do you think, my dear?”

Aziraphale was looking at him eagerly with wide and hopeful eyes, hands clasped in front of him to prevent them from fidgeting nervously.

Crowley didn’t like to lie to his friend.* But to tell the truth would be tantamount to kicking the largest puppy in the world.

*He loved to lie to anyone else, though.

“Looks good,” answered the demon, hating the look of relief on his friend’s face*. “Not a bad location. Plenty of space for books,” he added, lifting an eyebrow at a bare shelf.

*It was there every time Aziraphale got the tiniest bit of approval, even from strangers, and it made the demon want to kick some Archangelic butts. They both tacitly avoided talking about their respective sides as much as possible, but Crowley didn’t need a degree in psychology to know Aziraphale’s relationship with Heaven was far from healthy.

“Oh, the books are not here yet. Except my personal collection of course,” added the angel as a second thought, waving at the crates. Crowley wondered if there would be any space for more once all this was sorted.

“Soooo… when do you plan on opening? Need a hand?”

The angel gasped. “ _Opening_ ? Oh no, dear boy! Nothing is ready yet! I need to store all my most precious books on the first floor, and there is the plumbing to consider, and the backroom to transform… a desk to order. I am afraid I will not be able to open before _at least_ next year.”

“But you were so excited to open a booksh-” started Crowley, before snapping his mouth shut and squinting his eyes.

“You _don’t want_ to open!” he realised, half accusing, half delighted.

“I have no idea what you are implying, Crowley,” chided the angel, looking away with a pout.

“You want to keep it to yourself as long as you can,” chuckled the demon.

“Of course not! That would be- -well, that would be _selfish_. Angels cannot be selfish. It is simply not ready, that is all.”

Crowley nodded with great seriousness, getting his grin under control. “Of course, angel. My bad. You know what? The day you open, I’ll celebrate with you. For all your hard work.”

Aziraphale beamed for a second before getting his face back under control. “Oh, that is very ni- I mean, very considerate of you, dear boy. But unfortunately, this will not happen for quite a while. There is still a lot to do.”

“Course, course...”

“Why, the dusting alone will take weeks!”

Crowley didn’t mention the existence of miracles. “Oh, I think you’re a little too optimistic here, angel. It’ll probably take months. Hard to get rid of dust.”

The angel nodded rapidly. “ _Precisely_! And I also have some pest control issues!”

“Pest?” wondered Crowley, looking over his glasses.

“Oh yes, I am fairly sure I saw a mouse once or twice. I cannot let _mice_ run in the shop! They could injure the books!”

“You mean _damage_ , right?” Crowley had a really hard time keeping a straight face.

“Why, yes, this is what I said. Come now, my dear, I will show you the back room. They will deliver the new couch today if everything goes smoothly. Do you want a hot cocoa while we are waiting?”

Under one of the shelves, a small, white, fluffy little mouse looked at the four retreating feet with murderous eyes.

* * *

**179** **4** **, Soho.**

“I’ve got you, you little nuisance!”

A loud thump echoed into the bookshop, followed by a guffaw.

“Crowley, if you do not intend to help, I strongly suggest you go home!”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Aziraphale. I can’t help you capture that poor little thing. I _like_ it.”

“LIKE him? He bit me _three_ times today! And he ate my favourite cheese! He is an utter nightmare!”

“Well, _duh_. Why do you think I like it?”

“ _Him_. And stop smiling, help me catch him!”

“Naaah, I’d rather stay here and watch you run.”

“Crowley, there is not enough place for two annoying little devils in this shop, and I swear to God I will remove one of you from the premises _very_ soon!”

“ _All right_ , I’ll help.”

“...what on Earth are you doing?”

“Ssserpent? Mice? What do you think I’m doing? Getting rid of your problem.”

“You will not _EAT_ him!”

“What the Heaven do you intend to do if not kill it? It’s a bloody _mouse_!”

“I intend to capture him and release him safely somewhere else, of course!”

“Angel… you put mousetraps everywhere.”

A sigh. “Yes. All that good cheese, wasted… why are you looking at me like that?”

“Aziraphale. You _know_ how mousetraps work, right?”

“They are traps. They trap.”

“Oh yes, they do. Definitely. Forever. No getting out once your _neck’s broken_.”

“...”

“Angel? Aziraphale? Are you okay?”

“… WHY didn’t you **TELL** me? Help me remove them _this instant_!”

* * *

**1795, Soho**

“Still no date set for the Grand Opening?”

Aziraphale huffed, annoyed. “Do not tease, my dear. I certainly cannot open while there is such a blatant health hazard running free under everyone’s nose! He is attacking me every time I step one foot in and his teeth are incredibly sharp. I will not allow customers to enter as long as this _vicious_ creature is here.”

“I’m sure it’ll be gone soon.”

The angel sighed. “I wish he was. But you know he is impossible to catch. I have the feeling he will be there to torment me forever, stealing my food and trying to eat my books. I swear he knows my favourites. He even...” Aziraphale looked around, in search of improbable spies. “He even did his _business_ on one of my misprinted bibles!” he added in a scandalized whisper.

The demon bit his lip sharply.

“Oh, you can laugh, you foul fiend. I know you’re dying to,” said Aziraphale with another, smaller sigh.

He looked so dejected Crowley’s heart softened and he patted his friend on the shoulder. “Buck up, angel. It’s been two years already, it won’t last now. Mice don’t live that long usually.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in horror. “He will **die**? Before I capture him and release him into the woods where he will be happy and have baby mice?”

Crowley shrugged. “I guess so.”

The angel squared his jaw, the familiar ***** stubborn glint shining in his eyes. “I will not accept that!”

 ***** And, to anyone who knew where such a glint could lead, slightly terrifying.

Aziraphale had refused to use miracles in his war against the interloper. It was a matter of pride (which was not a good feeling for an angel to have). But he had imagined the mouse happily settled in a delightful little wood, and _by joves_ he would see it happen! He snapped his fingers, and the mouse appeared on the counter, in a small cage.

“This situation has gone on long enough, my dear,” declared the angel grimly, taking the handle of the cage. “Now you will come with me and meet your new home!”

With another snap, he disappeared with his burden. Crowley tilted his head, a little impressed by the angel’s decisiveness and a lot disappointed by his shortened visit.

“Well, I guess I’ll see myself out.”

That stupid mouse had ruined a perfectly good evening. They didn’t even open the wine.

Well, at least now they were rid of the little bugger, he thought, heading out.

* * *

**1795, the following morning.**

“Angel,” called Crowley, letting himself in with a casual miracle. “You won’t believe what I just did at the Palace! It will be in every newspapers tomorrow!”

Aziraphale was not in the shop. Backroom then. With a grin, he aimed for it. Oh, he knew his friend would laugh a lot at this one. He was pretty proud of himself.

“I miracled some clothes on to appear like a member of the staff, then I slithered to the reception room, and-”

Crowley’s words died on his lips. There, sitting on his chair, was Aziraphale, looking up at him with that pleased smile he always had upon his friend’s visits.

And on his shoulder, glaring daggers at the demon…

“What… what is it doing here?” asked Crowley, frowning.

“Him, dear. And he was listening to me reading, the sweet dear.”

“ _Sweet d-_ Aziraphale, it’s the mouse! You _hate_ the mouse! And why isn’t it attacking you?”

The angel raised a hand with great care and stroked the little ball of fluffy fur with a fond smile. “We have come to an agreement. He looked so forlorn there in that little clearing, I just couldn’t bring myself to leave him.”

An _Agreement_? With that stupid mouse? Crowley squinted his eyes accusingly. “You wanted it _out_!”

“But he looked so _sad_!” explained Aziraphale, doing his wide puppy eyes trick and holding the mouse for Crowley to see. “How could I say no to these little eyes, Crowley? _Look_ at him!”

Crowley looked. Had a venomous stare been able to kill, the demon would have been destroyed on the spot.

Suddenly, that blessed mouse wasn’t funny anymore, getting all cosy with _his_ adversary.

“I should have eaten you when I still had the chance,” he hissed in such a low voice the angel didn’t hear it.

He could have sworn the little fucker _smiled_.


	8. Where did Everybody Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale comes home to find it empty.  
> Where is Crowley when the angel needs his company?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short one and I appologise.  
> I thought about writing more, but it felt the right place to end this particular story.^^
> 
> The prompt is "Abandoned". I hope you'll have fun reading it.

“Crowley? I am back, are you here?”

Well, obviously not. Aziraphale carefully hung his coat and craned his neck with a tired sigh. It was good to be home. He loved to help, of course he did, he was an _angel_ , but sometimes, he would perform one miracle too many. That’s when human’s suffering and despair started to rub off on him, and it meant it was time to go home.

That last hospital had been imprudent, he knew it before he even stepped in, but he never had known when to stop… if he felt good and fit, then one more _tiny_ miracle couldn’t hurt, right?

Crowley used to say it was an addiction, that the angel should take a life coach to get rid of his ‘disgusting need to help everyone’. Aziraphale was almost certain it was a joke.

He frowned. Where _was_ Crowley? The demon was usually always here after one of his blessing trips. He knew Aziraphale would need some cheering up. So why wasn’t he here, waiting for him with a glass of wine and some funny shenanigans to recount?

_Oh, I am awfully cranky. Good thing the poor dear is still out._

His friend being absent, the angel aimed directly for the staircase. A cup of tea would help greatly. A book, his place near the fire, and he would be good company once Crowley would get home.

Fifteen minutes later, it was a slightly more composed angel that entered the backroom, open book in one hand, mug in the other. He stopped right in his tracks, something in his peripheral vision sending all kinds of alarms blaring at the back of his mind.

Slowly, he lowered his book and his mug. Tea started to spill on the rug, and Aziraphale didn’t even notice the scalding beverage running over his hand.

“Crowley?” he murmured.

The vision was, to say the least, unusual. At first, it was very, very concerning. His friend’s body was laying on the couch, unseeing eyes wide open. Absently, the angel noticed the glasses on the coffee table.

He took a step forward. This was, without the shadow of a doubt, Crowley’s corporation. And it was vacant. Empty. Abandoned.

Just a rag doll left here, no demonic presence anywhere to be seen.

Aziraphale blinked, fully taking in the scene in front of his eyes. The wave of dread and horror died half a second after it had taken shape in his heart, leaving place to gleefulness. He bit his lips, chuckling despite himself.

“Oh, dear. You outdid yourself this time.” he murmured, eyes twinkling, straightening his mug and taking a sip. He walked past the couch and took his usual place on the armchair near the fireplace, opening his book again.

He didn’t know what Crowley was up to this time. But he was sure of three facts:

One: His demon was fine. He had left his human body willingly, and intended to come back.

Two: Aziraphale was certain that Gabriel’s extra corporation wasn’t in the attics anymore.

Three: Crowley had done this to make him laugh, perfectly knowing he would need some cheering up. He would certainly have delightful stories to tell upon his return.

He turned a page, looked up at his friend’s lanky corporation, shook his head with a soft, fond laugh, and got back to his book.

On the couch, Crowley’s body laid rigidly, hands on his chest. They were holding a cardboard placard on which was written, in Crowley’s hand “I ATE’NT DEAD”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Sir Terry so much.  
> To the readers who are unfamiliar with the placard Crowley is holding, one my favourites characters in his discworld series is a witch who can "borrow" the bodies of animals to see what is happening elsewhere.  
> She uses the placard to make sure not to wake up burried by benevolent villagers. 
> 
> Crowley and Aziraphale are both huge Pterry fans of course^^
> 
> For those who haven't read "The Holy Quest", Crowley almost discorporated and needed a corporation urgently. So Aziraphale forced Heaven to lend them one, and it was one of Gabriel's^^  
> They kept it, in case one of them needed it someday. You never know when an extra corporation will come in handy...
> 
> Tomorrow's theme is "For the Greater Good" and I chose the prompt "Run!"  
> It is going to be whumpy^^  
> And angsty. :D


	9. 9-For the Greater Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Them were having a great time together. But something is about to ruin the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Angst is back, but I promise everything will be well in the end.  
> I love the Them. I think they will be more and more present in my stories in the future^^

“ _Left or right?”_

“ _He is close. The object isn’t precise enough to say. You two get to the right, we will try left. Don’t forget, he is powerful. Strike first, don’t hesitate. No compassion. You take him down at first sight.”_

* * *

“All I’m saying is they could totally both have fit on that door,” said Wensley. “No need for the man to drown. It’s just ridiculous. And how is it even possible not to see a whole iceberg? It’s a giant chunk of ice!”

Pepper snorted. “I can explain that. A _man_ was at the wheel.”

“A dumb man, you mean,” objected Brian. “A smart one wouldn’t have hit the iceberg to begin with. Not every man is _that_ dumb.”

Pepper tilted her head, humming thoughtfully, then nodded to concede the point. “You’re right. Every character was stupid, regardless of their sex. I wish the girl died too. It would have been a better ending.”

Adam was lying in the sun, idly listening to his friends. He wasn’t feeling very alert today. Maybe his second helping of apple pie had been a mistake.

Dog barked. Then he whined, and silence fell.

Adam’s eyes shot open, he straightened on his elbow, extending his occult senses in a frantic search.

“What are you doing?” asked Wensley’s voice behind him. He sounded frightened. Pepper yelled “Leave him alone!”

Then came the sound of a body hitting the ground.

“RUN!” yelled Wensley.

Adam scrambled to his feet, turning to see-

He barely felt the sting on his neck. Everything went dark.

* * *

“ _Is it done?”_

“ _Not exactly, sir.”_

“ _What do you mean? Did you find him or not?”_

“ _Yes, we did, but… he wasn’t alone. There were other children.”_

“ _What are you waiting for? Destroy the Beast and leave the others!”_

“ _But, sir… how can I know which one it is? I can’t kill a real child!”_

“ _He has_ horns _, you idiot!”_

“ _I… do not think so, Sir. They all seem perfectly human.”_

“… _bring them here.”_

* * *

When Adam came back to his senses, he was in the back of a moving vehicle. Groaning, he straightened and looked around him. Pepper, sitting right in front of him with Wensley, let out a relieved sigh.

“Hey, Adam,” said Brian, sitting on his left. “You’re alive.”

“I _told_ you he was alive!” snapped Pepper.

“He didn’t _look_ alive,” answered Brian, shrugging.

“He was _breathing_ , Brian,” sighed Wensley, rolling his eyes.

Adam looked at the two men that were sitting at the other end of the truck, watching over them with what seemed to be rifles.

“Where is my dog?” he asked imperiously.

“They left him in the woods. They shot _him_ too,” said Wensley in a tone that had the two men exchange guilty looks. “With something that made him sleep,” added the boy hurriedly. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

One of the two men grimaced. Their tranquillisers were intended for twelve year old humans, not little dogs. He was almost sure the poor beast was dead. Nothing was going according to plan, he thought, not realizing how true his statement really was*.

*Yet.

Adam focussed, trying to reach out with his powers, and was unsurprised when something blocked him. Whoever had taken them had a means to incapacitate him, like a blanket of ethereal molasses hindering him.

Something from outside was binding his magic. Something _close_. It explained how he couldn’t have felt the men’s approach in the first place. They had a shield with them.

Aziraphale and Crowley had never talked about such things. They may not even know it was possible to cut Adam from his powers.

And, he realized suddenly, they probably didn’t know their Godson was in trouble. That damn shield was probably blocking his presence too.

“It’s child abduction,” declared Wensley. “We’re being abducted.”

“Maybe not,” objected Brian. “Maybe they think we robbed diamonds and we’re being arrested.”

“Then why didn’t they read us our rights, genius?” cut Pepper.

“That’s in America. Here in England, everyone knows their right,” answered Brian, unfazed.

“Do _you_?” asked Wensley.

Brian knew when to admit defeat. “Maybe it’s white slavery!”

Pepper gasped in outrage. “Excuse me? Why would _I_ be abducted for white slavery?”

“Maybe they’re open-minded?”

“I think they will put us up for adoption. I’ve heard some couples are ready to pay a lot for a kid,” declared Wensley. “They will say we’re orphans and sell us to rich people.”

Pepper scrunched up her nose. “ _Ew_ , I don’t want to be raised by _rich_ people!”

“Do you think I’d have my own room?” asked Brian, thinking that rich, childless people certainly would be generous with sweets and desserts.

“What about your parents?” snapped Wensley.

“They have two other kids. They’ll be fine.”

Adam had a lot to add to the conversation, but was too busy freaking out. None of his friends realized the situation. They were here because of him, and he couldn’t get them out.

The truck stopped. The doors opened.

A short man in a jumper looked at them, then pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“Why is there a _girl_?”

“She was with them, sir,” explained one of the two guards hesitantly.

“The Beast is in the body of a _boy_ , you imbecile! That child has nothing to do here, she is innocent!”

Pepper squinted her eyes. “Don’t _patronize_ me!”

“This whole affair is turning into a circus,” murmured the short man, turning on his heels. “All right, bring them here. We will determine which one of them is the impostor and destroy him. Then you’ll bring the children back.”

“What do you mean, _destroy_?” asked Brian, eyes widening.

“One of you is a demon pretending to be a human, my boy. And the others have no idea. I will make him confess, then destroy him and save the world. And the three others will grow up in a peaceful world.”

Wensley scoffed. “Oh, a _peaceful_ world? You will stop every war and bring food to malnourished people, then?”

“On top of saving the world. That’s impressive,” added Brian.

“I am certain you will also bring sex equality and the end of corruption to the mix,” jeered Pepper.

Adam couldn’t repress a smile. He may be powerless and feeling dizzy, but these men had no idea what they put themselves in.

* * *

Dog woke up with a loud growl, and bit at the air twice, eyes glowing red. His Master had been _taken_ , and he hadn’t been able to stop it. He was a _bad_ doggy.

Sniffing the air, he looked to the East. He wanted to follow the track, but had been bad once, and needed to save his Master.

He started to run as fast as he could ***** towards London.

 ***** which meant he shape-shifted into something more comfortable and slithered into the ethereal plane where nothing as mundane as the laws of physics could slow him.

* * *

Brian was the first to be brought to the blue, circular stone in the middle of the strange henge.

“Touch it, and answer my questions.”

“I’m not touching that. What if it burns me?”

The man snapped, his benevolence crumbling. “It won’t burn you! It only forces evil to tell the truth! The Beast will not be able to lie while in contact with it. Now _touch_ it!”

“No need to yell, I’m touching your stupid stone. You should mind your arteries, you know. My father always says that yelling is bad for them.”

Jumper man’s face took on an interesting shade of red. He steepled his hands beneath his nose, closing his eyes in a motion very familiar to the Them*. He took a deep breath in, then another, and opened his eyes. “All right. Let’s begin, shall we? What is your name?”

*They were used to see one or both of their parents do the exact same motion regularly.

"Brian,” answered Brian.

“Are you the Spawn of Satan?”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

Adam bit his lip, Wensley beamed, and Pepper snorted.

“We have him!” exclaimed the man, elated. “We have finally found the Great Beast!”

Adam let him have a few seconds of glory. *****

 ***** It was only polite.

“Sorry Sir, but _I’m_ the Great Beast,” he corrected.

“No, it’s me. I’m the Antichrist,” declared Wensley.

“I don’t see why girls can’t be Antichrists. Of course it’s me. Times are changing.” announced Pepper.

The jumper guy blinked, and looked from one to the other with shining eyes. Brian raised his hand from the stone and patted his arm. “Don’t be sad, sir. I’m sure you’ll have more luck stopping war.”

“Technically,” one of the guards said, “we could kill them all. We know he’s one of them.”

His three colleagues looked at him in horror.

“I didn’t say I _wanted_ to do it. Just that we could,” murmured the guard, shuffling his feet.

The jumper guy buried his face in his hand. “We do not _kill_ people! I’ve created this group to _save_ them! What is _wrong_ with you, Leif?”

“Yeah, man, are you crazy? I’m not killing kids!” protested one of the other guards.

“Well we signed on to save the freaking _world_! They will die anyway if we do nothing about it! It’s common maths, three lives against all the others. Just saying, we should think about it,” reasoned Leif.

“I assure you this is not a path you want to follow,” declared a polite, clear voice behind Adam.

“Yeah, justifying murder is a slippery slope. Believe me, you don’t want to go there,” added a second, sharper voice right into Leif’s ear. “There’s no turning back.”

The man yelped, dropped his rifle, looked to the _nightmarish_ face next to his and fainted.

“Is that your real head, Mister Crowley?” asked Brian with excited awe. “It’s wicked!”

Adam kneeled to hug a very happy Dog. He was still feeling as in a dream, but at least now he felt complete.

Crowley switched back to his human head. “Only one of them. How are you all? Is anyone hurt?”

“We are fine, but they did something to Adam,” urged Wensley. “He’s been all strange since they shot us.”

“SHOT YOU?” cried Aziraphale, while some black scales erupted on Crowley’s neck.

“Just a sleeping dart,” reassured Wensley. “They shot us all. And Dog.”

“Oh, yes, the poor dear was a little groggy. Now, my dear Sir,” added the angel sternly, turning to Jumper guy, “will you be so kind as to explain to me this whole… affair?”

Angels didn’t need special stones to obtain the truth. Aziraphale hated to use his powers to impose his will on defenceless humans, but he didn’t think twice on this occasion.

“My grandmother was from an old family of wizards. She spent her whole life searching for clues about Armageddon and how to stop it. And before she died she told me where to find the Beast, and how to defeat it! I have an object that led me to him, and that prevents him from using his powers!”

The man was babbling, magic and frustration pushing him.

Aziraphale smiled benevolently. “That was _very_ clever of her, even if your dear grandmother got the dates a little confused. How did you intend to _defeat_ _the Antichrist_ , exactly?”

“With a special dagger!” exclaimed the man, producing said dagger. Aziraphale took it and grimaced before handing it carefully to Crowley. The demon pushed his glasses over his head to Look at the object, and made a face.

“Stings. could certainly destroy _me_. I don’t think it could kill Adam, though. But it may harm him.” He looked up and snapped his fingers. “All right, you all. Where is that stupid object binding the Antichrist’s powers?”

One of the guards handed over a strange compass.

“I will destroy those immediately,” promised the angel, taking the dagger back with disgust and snatching the compass from the man’s hand. “And you, my dear fellows,” he added, looking at the humans men, “will go back home and forget all about this affair.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure of it, angel,” assured Crowley darkly.

The kids watched as Aziraphale disappeared, and Adam sighed in relief as his mind cleared.

“Feeling better?” asked Crowley grumpily. Adam nodded with a small smile.

“Good. You all… wait here, rest for a moment. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He grabbed Jumper guy’s collar, snapped his fingers, and disappeared with his captive and the armed men.

Brian looked around. “What do we do now?” he asked.

Every Them looked at Adam. Who smiled.

“I just thought of a game. It’s gonna be wicked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The compass had been created to bind the Antichrist's powers, and Dog being linked to Adam, it affected him too^^
> 
> Next theme is "They look so Pretty when they Bleed" and will be angsty too, he he^^  
> I've chosen the prompt "Blood loss" and "Trail of Blood", it will be a Crowley whump and it will feature BAMF Aziraphale.  
> I'll post it in a few hours. I'm late, have to catch up!


	10. 10-They Look so Pretty when they Bleed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a very nasty surprise waiting in Crowley's flat...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley whump, everyone^^  
> The prompts are "Blood loss" and "Trail of blood"  
> Hope you'll like it!
> 
> I am still one prompt late, but I will do my best to catch up.  
> Probably not this week though. It will be a long one at work, and I will have trouble enough with one story a day^^

“ He didn’t say how long he would be out of town?” asked Anathema as the angel unlocked the door to Crowley’s flat in Mayfair.

“ No, he did not know exactly, but last time I talked to him he said he would be back shortly. I am so sorry to delay our outing like this. It will not take long. Just get in, take the papers in his safe and get out.”

“ I thought he moved into the bookshop,” wondered Newt as they entered.

“ Oh yes, of course. But- -Well, let us say after several millennia, one tends to accumulate quite a few souvenirs. It would be difficult to fit everything in only one place. Feel free to visit, my dears, I will be back in a minute.”

Newt looked around, intrigued. He would never have imagined a demon’s house so… empty. Clean.

“ This is a little frightening,” declared Anathema, reflecting his own thoughts. “It doesn’t look like Crowley at all.”

“ I don’t know. It kind of fits his aesthetic,” mused Newt, leaning against a wall with a smirk.

The wall moved behind his back, pivoting on invisible hinges. Anathema gasped in anguish as her husband fell face first into another room with a squeal.

“ Newt? Are you all right?”

The young man grimaced and straightened up on his knees. “Yes, I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“ You’re sure?” asked his wife, following him through the strange pivoting door.

He knew that tone of voice. Now that she was reassured about his well-being, she was replaying his fall and his shriek in her mind, and tried very hard not to laugh.

_ How did I get so lucky? What did I do in a past life to deserve such a perfect, smart, adorable, thoughtful wife? _

She saw his expression and smiled that particular smile that was  _ his _ only. “Stop that, you sap, you know I can’t resist those eyes. Aziraphale is here, and I can’t have you look at me like that when there’s  _ people _ with us.”

“ Why ever not?” asked the angel’s voice right behind her, and they both blushed furiously. No way they would answer  _ that _ question.

“ Do you know where the light switch is, Aziraphale?” asked Newt hurriedly. “I put my hands in something sticky.”

It was a good way to change the subject, and had the advantage to be the truth.

“ Ew,” said Anathema with a grimace, catching sight of her husband’s stained hands. “Wait, I think it’s here… yes. Now let’s see… oh. You fell into a pool of old oil, Newt. I don’t think your trousers will be salvageable.”

“ That’s strange. How did it end here?”

A soft gasp had the couple turn. Aziraphale was looking at Newt’s hands. His face was like stone.

“ This is not oil. This is demonic blood.”

“ Blood?” stammered Newt, looking down at the black, sticky substance on his hands. He felt his guts twist painfully.

“ Oh no,” murmured Anathema near him, paling. It was a  _ large  _ puddle.

“ Maybe it’s not Crowley’s,” provided Newt, trying to appear reassuring.

“ It is,” cut Aziraphale grimly. He was touching the furniture and the walls, his eyes shining with heavenly Grace, and frowned at a perfectly empty corner. “This is strange,” he murmured. “What would one of  _ them  _ do here, in the middle of a city?”

“ What are you talking about?” asked Newt, who was wondering with growing worry how much blood was needed to create a pool that big.

“ The residual energy is very distinctive. And I do not have Crowley’s nose, but I can smell leaves and earth. Can you?”

Anathema nodded. “Yes. Isn’t it Crowley’s plants?”

“ He moved them all to the shop months ago,” answered the angel absently, still looking around for clues.

“ Do you know what happened? Is Crowley badly hurt?” pressed Newt.

Aziraphale opened the window and looked at the emergency stairwell. “I think he escaped that way. The creature may have followed him.”

He turned back and looked at the two humans. “You should go back to the bookshop. If something hurt Crowley, you are not safe here. I will transport you there.”

“ Absolutely  _ not _ !” objected Anathema, Newt nodding firmly at her side in support. “We will help you!”

“ My dear, this is dangerous for you! You are-”

“ We stopped Armageddon already. We won’t run away when our friend is in danger,” Newt cut in.

The angel looked from one to the other, then nodded shortly. “Stay close, please. And do exactly as I say.”

* * *

Crowley tried not to breathe, listening intently, one hand pressed to his side to keep it from bleeding. He didn’t have the time for a healing miracle, and not enough energy left to teleport.

Blood was supposed to stay  _ inside  _ a corporation if you wanted to keep it functional. He could feel his body weakening, slowly drawing near its discorporating point.

_ And I only had it for three months _ , he thought with a sigh.

A soft sound to his left had him tense up.  _ Shit _ . His pursuer had followed him to the roof.

Another sound, much closer. Crowley leaped, avoiding a long, green, clawed hand by inches.

“ **Kill!** ” groaned the creature, stumbling after him. “ **Eat!** ”

“ I’m not edible!” yelled Crowley, escaping another attack. “I’m a  _ demon _ , you jackass! There won’t be anything  _ left _ to eat if you bloody discorporate me! If you’re hungry, you should look elsewhere! Just, not in  _ this _ building! ***** ”

***** Crowley didn’t know most of his neighbours, but Mrs. Desiree, who lived on his floor, was a nice old lady who always offered him some home-made biscuits when he came back to check on his mail, and he wasn’t about to let her be eaten by an eldritch creature.

“ **Kill!** ” shrieked the other in anger, rushing forward, it’s sharp claws aiming at the demon’s throat.

Crowley jumped away, rolling his eyes. “You’re not even  _ listening _ to me. That’s rude, buddy. First, breaking into my home, then stabbing me and probably giving me tetanus, and not even  _ listening _ !”

“ **Kill! eat!** ” growled the monster.

“ Do you even know other words?” scolded Crowley.

“ **EAT!** ”

“ Oh, dear,” declared a soft voice, making the bloodthirsty creature turn. “Well, that is unexpected.”

Crowley’s tensed posture relaxed minutely, a small smile crossing his face for half a second.

“ Hiya, angel,” he greeted calmly, eyes fixed on his aggressor. “Found the papers I needed?”

“ Oh, yes, dear, I have it right here. Are we interrupting?”

“ Kind of, but since you’re here already you could lend a hand.”

The angel tilted his head. “What on earth is a leshy doing in  _ central London _ ?” he wondered.

“ No bloody idea! It’s supposed to live only in the deepest woods. there’s no forest  _ here _ , stupid!” snapped the demon at the leshy.

“ **Eat!** ” yelled the creature, turning from Crowley to Aziraphale angrily.

“ But my dear fellow, you cannot eat a demon’s corporation.”

Crowley shook his head. “I kept telling him that this last half hour. He just doesn’t listen!”

“ **Kill!** ” shrieked the monster, attacking Aziraphale. A barrier of Grace stopped him, and he whined, trying to free his hands that had got stuck into the angel’s invisible shield. Crowley pouted. Of course leshies were impervious to occult miracles but could be stopped by angelic Grace. this was unfair.

“ None of that, now,” chided Aziraphale, waving his finger at the monster like he’d caught him with his hand in a cookie jar. “You will get back home and stop being naughty.”

He reached out, grabbed the leshy by the neck, and shoved him backward. The monster disappeared with a ‘pop’ as the angel’s miracle transported him back from where he had come. Aziraphale rushed to his friend’s side, followed by Anathema and Newt that looked both concerned and relieved.

“ Oh, my dear. This seems painful. What happened?”

Crowley blinked at the rush of healing Grace, feeling his wound start to stitch itself up. He could have explained his surprise at the monster’s ***** sudden appearance into his flat one hour ago, but was too busy replaying the last minute in his mind.

***** To be perfectly fair, said monster had seemed at least as surprised as Crowley.

“ Crowley?” asked the angel, worried at his silence. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“ Do you need something? What can we do?” pressed Anathema.

“ Are you about to faint?” added Newt in anguish.

The demon opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Raised a hand to stop the questions.

“ Did you just,” he asked with a deadpan face “called an immortal forest spirit  _ naughty _ ?”

“ But, my dear,” said the angel earnestly, “He stained your carpet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A leshy is a slavic spirit/deity of the forests.  
> And we will learn how it came from there to Crowley's flat. This is not over^^
> 
> For those who wonder about baby Fyre's absence, she's napping at her grandmother's.   
> Newt's mum was delighted to watch after her while Anathema and Newt enjoyed an outing at the fair with their friend.
> 
> Next theme is "Psych 101", with the prompts "defiance" and "struggling"  
> Not sure about the story yet, but I have a vague idea.


	11. 11-Psych 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys decide to take a day out.  
> What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay everyone! I had a harsh week at work, and now I'm five days late on Whumptober, but I WILL catch up. I did it last year, and I will do it this time too!
> 
> So here is a long one to make up for the tardiness.

Aziraphale looked out the window, eyeing an elderly gentleman  as he  cross ed the street, umbrella in hand.

It was a very nice umbrella, he thought. One could never go wrong with tartan patterns. With a soft, compassionate sigh, he flicked the sign to “closed” and locked the door one second before the old man’s hand turned the handle.

The doorknob rattled. Aziraphale smiled regretfully through the glass.

The man opened his mouth and said very impolite things. The angel pouted and shut the blind. Really, some people were just  _ rude _ . Was it his fault if it was closing time already?

Shaking his head at humanity’s impatience, he made his way to the backroom, and stopped near the couch, looking at his best friend’s sleeping form sprawled all over the surface in a position no one else on earth would be able to achieve without spraining something.

He snapped his fingers and sat down onto the chair he’d miracled. Took a sip of lukewarm tea from his mug.

Crowley was fine. Of course he was. It would take more than a lost, hungry forest spirit to really hurt him.

But, still. This was unusual. This was odd. Aziraphale didn’t like odd, or unusual. Wood creatures usually stayed in said woods. He only could find one explanation so far: Crowley’s habits of terrorizing his poor plants. It may be it. 

A lost leshy, half mad in such a strange, noisy place, drawn to a demonic, plant-bully soul.

As Crowley had put it “It’s not like we aren’t trouble-magnets anyway.”

They were. They tended to find themselves mingled in any dangerous situation happening in a hundred miles radius. 

The angel stored the incident in the “coincidences” section of his memories, looked at his friend’s sleeping face once more, and got up. Time to prepare coffee.

* * *

Crowley opened his eyes with a groan and stretched like a cat.

“Hello, my dear. Did you rest enough?”

“Hmmdayz’it?”

“Tuesday. You slept quite a while.”

Something was pressed into his hand and he grabbed it like a lifeline. Mug. Good. He needed a mug right now.

The demon tried to sit, deemed it too difficult at the moment, and slithered to the carpet like an overcooked noodle, not spilling even a drop of coffee.

He heard a snap and tilted his neck to look at the fire suddenly burning in the chimney. So he’d slept four days. It wasn’t that long, of course, but if he knew Aziraphale*, the angel hadn’t got out of his blasted bookshop even once. It was an unsaid part of their Arrangement. Had been for centuries. If one of them was hurt, or washed out, the other would find a reason to hang around as long as needed.

*And he did.

Of course, now that they didn’t have sides anymore, reasons weren’t really needed. But it didn’t mean they had to TALK about it.

“Wanna go out today, angel?”

“Oh, that is a most excellent idea, Crowley!”

He couldn’t see Aziraphale’s face from his position under the coffee table, but didn’t need it to imagine the huge beam on his face.

“Kay. That’s settled then. We’ll go to the sea. Want to swim.” Crowley already felt himself dozing off, his mind drifting under the warmth of the fire and the softness of the rug.

The angel chuckled. “My dear fellow, it is October, and we are in England. You would freeze to discorporation.”

“Would not! M’a demon, me!” mumbled Crowley, closing his eyes.

“A _cold_ _blooded_ demon, dear boy.”

“T’s sslander, at’ss what it is. You’ll see. Betting you nexssst lunch.”

“I look forward to it,” assured Aziraphale, heading to his desk. He knew Crowley wouldn’t get up before a few more hours of sleep.

It took exactly four hours and twenty one minutes before Crowley opened his eyes again. Two coffees and a snap of his fingers later, the demon was up, hair perfectly styled up, not a wrinkle on his clothes, and complaining about his friend’s slowness.

“Come ooooon angel! The sea’s waiting!”

“I need to retrieve my overcoat upstairs. It may become chilly this evening.”

“Why did you keep it upstairs anyway? You’ve got a perfectly serviceable hatstand right here!”

“I put it away in April, and did not need it before today,” explained the angel in a way too calm voice.

Crowley huffed, sighed, and made a show at appearing annoyed. “Since it’s going to take you at least twenty minutes*, I’ll go prepare the car.”

*Donning the coat wasn’t the problem. It was straightening the waistcoat, cufflinks and bow-tie after that, so they all appeared  _ nifty _ .

“Very well, I will meet you outside.”

They departed fourteen minutes later, and if a box of fresh pastries (Aziraphale’s favourites, from the bakery around the corner) had found its way into the car while the angel was busy with his clothes, neither of them mentioned it.

Unexpectedly, the beach was almost deserted. Aziraphale rolled his eyes as his friend snapped his fingers to change into a swimsuit.

“Crowley, it is way too cold! The wind is freezing already, and the water cannot be any better.”

“I said I wanted to swim, and swim I will, angel. I’m sure the water’s perfect. You’re too fussy, that’s all.”

Aziraphale sent a long suffering look to the sky, but didn’t object. He knew his demon well enough, and this was a personal challenge to Crowley, now. Nothing would deter him. Better wait here, eat those delicious little cakes, and be ready to materialise some heavy blankets in a few minutes when his friend came back all blue, asking why in the world didn’t Aziraphale stop him.

With a contented sigh, he spread a beach towel on the sand and sat, opening the box of pastries on his lap while Crowley entered the water with decisive strides. He was sure he would hear some interesting swearing in only a few seconds. The sea did seem very cold, after all.

The first bite of éclair au chocolat was sinful, and the angel closed his eyes in bliss. A demonic yelp sounded in the distance. Aziraphale chuckled inwardly, waiting for the string of curses that would certainly follow. Nothing came.

Frowning, the angel opened his eyes, scanning the sea, expecting an offended, angry demon glaring at the water.

There was no demon in sight. Aziraphale froze for a second. Yes, his friend loved to play pranks, and to be quite honest, he himself had no qualms to do it also from time to time, but neither of them would pretend to be in danger as a joke.

The box tumbled and the pastries fell into the sand, forgotten.

* * *

Crowley refrained from cursing for a good ten seconds, and entered the water as decidedly as he could. It was freaking freezing, what was wrong with the weather? Where was global warming when you needed it?

This had been a bad idea. Fucking worst idea of his existence. But out of the question to go back, not with Aziraphale certainly looking at him with that smug smile of his. He would swim for a while, and come back victorious, and the angel would feel sorry for even doubting him.

He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and prepared to dive in head first.

He dived indeed, but it wasn’t of his own volition. Something grabbed his ankle and pulled, and with an undignified cry Crowley disappeared under water.

He kicked down, but the grip on his ankle only tightened and didn’t seem ready to let go any time soon. 

He was trapped, and had no way to escape.

In a burst of feral demonic energy, Crowley let his fangs and claws grow out, feeling black scales cover his skin. Turning into a snake wouldn’t be very helpful right now, he needed his arms. Twisting, he reached down and grabbed something slimy. His first attempt at striking got stopped by what was definitely a hand, and something flashed behind his eyelids.

_ Rotten. Filthy. Evil. _

Oh. These were not his thoughts. It seemed like it but-

_ Deserves to die. Deserves destruction. Undeserving of living. Undeserving of love. _

The thoughts echoed all over his corporation and into his core. This was the truth, he could feel it. He was all this, and he deserved to-

Well he didn't’ care one bit about what he deserved. He never intended to die, he’d survived a Fall and Hell, and it was NOT to end up at the bottom of the water like a stupid ship.

_ Evil. Wicked. Vicious. Sinful. _

Again, he could feel the truth of the words, how they sipped through his occult body, hitting like physical blows.

Except it wasn’t hurting. Evil? Vicious? These words were only praises in Crowley’s vocabulary. He embraced them with a dark grin as he struggled, feeling himself sink deeper and deeper into the sea. The hold on him was burning, and he could feel his arms trapped against his flanks by the creature’s limbs while its spirit tugged at his occult powers. He knew that sensation, had experienced it in the past, in Scotland-

A urisk.

Great. He was attacked by something he couldn’t fight with his miracles. A holy, benevolent creature, whose only purpose in life was to _destroy evil_ and who was leeching out his demonic essence.

Just perfect. It was so dark he could barely make out the shape of his enemy. _I still have enough to hurt you, you fucker._ With a snarl, he sank his fangs into rubbery flesh. The hold on him loosened a little and he sensed the urisk’s pain.

He closed his eyes, gathering his strength to break free. He would only have the one chance, he knew it.

A hand closed on his upper arm in an iron grip, and pulled hard. 

_ Aziraphale. _

Crowley felt the creature let go, and the angel’s hand released him. He started to swim up, knowing his friend wouldn’t be far behind, shielding him from the urisk’s ire. Holy creatures didn’t attack angels*.

*And this, had always thought Crowley, was freaking unfair, since evil creatures _loved_ to attack demons.

There was no reason to look down. He knew it, and still he couldn’t help it, just to check. 

Aziraphale wasn’t right behind, he was sinking down in the grip of the sea-creature, eyes closed, pale as a ghost.

* * *

_ Liar. Traitor. Bad. Devious. _

He was. He had lied so many times, lied to God Herself.

_ False. Betrayer. Undeserving of trust. Undeserving of living. _

He’d never wanted to betray, he’d just tried to protect-

_ Backstabber. Traitor. **Traitor**. Nothing holy. Nothing good. _

Aziraphale could feel the weight of the words, how truthful they were. He was not holy anymore, and had ceased to be a long time ago. What good was there in him now? The voice in his head was right, he didn’t deserve to live.

He could feel himself sink deeper and deeper into oblivion, and didn’t try to fight it. Whatever was coming for him, he deserved it entirely.

* * *

“Oi! Aziraphale! Wake up!”

The angel wanted nothing more than sleep a little more, but Crowley sounded frantic, and there must be some sort of emergency. He opened his eyes.

“ _Flames_ , angel! Don’t scare me like that, stupid!” hissed the demon, smacking Aziraphale’s head half-heartedly.

“What happened?” asked the angel, looking around with a frown. They were-

On a beach, the water a few yards away. It all came back in a rush.

“You have been attacked!” exclaimed Aziraphale, sitting up.

“Well, yeah, nothing new. You’ve been too. It almost got you, stupid.”

The angel frowned, shaking his head in disbelief. “But urisk don’t attack angels,” he murmured. “And still, it tried to destroy me. I could feel its hate. I couldn’t fight it. Where is it?”

He looked around again, then at his friend. Crowley shrugged defensively. Aziraphale gasped. “You  _ killed  _ it?”

“It was attacking you!” snapped the demon. Aziraphale’s face softened.

“I’m so very sorry, my dear. I know it couldn’t have been pleasant.”

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses. Sure, destroying a benevolent creature wasn’t something he liked that much, but he wouldn’t have nightmares about it either. “It was too focused on you to see me come back. Figured it would be safer to kill it on the first strike.  _ Why  _ did it attack you, though?”

Aziraphale was still frowning, looking at his hands folded on his lap. Why indeed? Why would an innocent, holy creature try to destroy an angel? It didn’t make any sense. An urisk only attacked evil, using its psychic abilities to force malevolent humans to face their faults.

An urisk only spoke the truth. But it was _its_ truth, its belief. The angel recalled the words that had resonated into his ethereal being, that had rang so true. He sometimes thought the same about himself. But the creature couldn’t have read into his mind. The words had to have come from its own experience.

Why would a Scottish freshwater creature attack a demon on England’s shores?

Why would a forest spirit attack a demon in the middle of London?

Why would a holy being hate an angel?

“Oh!” let out Aziraphale suddenly.

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“I think someone is trying to kill you, my dear.”

The demon scoffed. “Yeah, I figured that out while you were out cold. Probably Hastur, I reckon.”

“ No, Crowley. I rather think it is an angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next fic's prompts are "broken bones-broken trust-broken down"  
> I think I'll go for the bones^^


	12. 12-I Think I've Broken Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys have a serious brainstorming about the last events.  
> Meanwhile, two other 'boys' are heading towards an Arrangement of their own...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of prompts to write if I want to finish this challenge in time^^  
> But my exams are over (and I got them! So happy!) and I realised I was maybe a tiny, little, minuscule bit stressed about it :D
> 
> So today, as a treat, you've got a prompt (broken bones) AND a chapter of Heaven Park, a story I neglected awfully.  
> I hope my mojo is back!

Aziraphale was pouting.

Sitting on his armchair, winged mug of scalding tea in hand, fire roaring like a furnace right behind him, he looked up to his friend with a glare that promised retribution.

“I am perfectly fine, Crowley,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“Not yet, you aren’t,” answered the demon, unfazed. “You almost died only one hour ago and I want to know why.”

“Well,” snapped Aziraphale in a tone acidic enough to dissolve iron, “you have been attacked too and I am not coddling you like a baby!”

Crowley snarled, fury etched on his face. “But _I_ fought back! You didn’t lift a fucking _finger_ , I saw you! You were letting it take you!”

The angel’s ire plummeted from ten to zero in a heartbeat. He hadn't been expecting this. This wasn't Crowley's normal anger. It was born from fear, a fear his friend had pushed away until they were back in the bookshop and safe, and he realised only now, as it exploded, how _worried_ his demon was.

“Oh, my dear… I assure you it wasn’t… whatever you think it was. Please, let me explain.”

The demon grimaced, pushing his glasses firmly up his nose. _Bloody puppy eyes_. “All right. Explain, then.”

Aziraphale folded his hands on his lap, furrowing his brow to put his thoughts in order. “Urisk don’t lie, you know that. They just can’t. They always tell the truth, and they fight evil anywhere they can find it.”

Crowley groaned in ascent. Didn’t _he_ know that. He loved Scotland, and always had to take all sorts of precautions when going there thanks to these bloody fuckers.

“Well, truth is quite a vague notion. When I say that urisks are telling the truth, I am talking about _their_ truth. What _they_ think, what _they_ feel. And that one... Well that one thought of me as an enemy. A traitor, a liar.”

He looked down, reminding himself the feelings echoing in his core. “You know how strong their thoughts can be, and how they can resonate inside an occult or ethereal being,” he added weakly.

Crowley shuffled his feet, got to the fire to add an absolutely unnecessary log, and grumbled “Drink your damn tea before it gets cold.”

The angel took an absent-minded sip. “And, well, lying and betraying are two notions that I am quite sensible to, as you well know-”

“You know I never thought that about you,” cut Crowley.

“Yes, of course. I know that, my dear, but _I_ did. I felt guilty about my lies. About you, about Heaven. About humanity of course. It was impossible to stay faithful to the three of you. I had to lie, and it always felt like betraying someone.”

He looked up and saw complicated emotions on his dear friend’s face. “No need to feel bad, dear boy. I have no regret, and you aren’t even the reason for my worst transgression.”

“Still thinking of that stupid sword, eh?” chuckled the demon, relaxing slightly. “So, that’s why you reacted like this? It was accusing you of sins you believed you’d committed?”

“I… felt guilty of what he accused me of, yes,” answered the angel slowly. “And the fact that it was coming from a holy, benevolent creature probably exacerbated the effects. This is why I didn’t fight back, I imagine.”

Crowley nodded. That was a good explanation. “So… it didn’t hurt your mind? You’re sure? You’re not feeling depressed or anything?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, then took another sip of tea. “I assure you it did not hurt my ethereal form. But you are welcome to check if you really have to.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” answered the demon, raising one eyebrow and extending his hand questioningly.

With a long suffering sigh, the angel closed his eyes and leaned in. Crowley touched his forehead, extending his occult senses and reaching out for his friend’s mind. He explored it rapidly, without the slightest hesitation, barely skimming over the angel’s delicate Grace.

Exploring another immortal’s mind was as dangerous as brain surgery. The slightest false move could hurt or even destroy the other for good, and no one in the universe would be able to wander through an angel’s ethereal spirit in less than several hours. But Crowley knew this mind like the back of his hand, and Aziraphale trusted him entirely, and had lowered all his barriers. 

Crowley opened his eyes and got back to his corporation after only a few minutes.

“Satisfied?” asked Aziraphale with a smug smile.

“Nothing’s wrong,” reckoned the demon slightly reluctantly.

“Told you so.”

“Shaddap,” said Crowley elegantly, before throwing himself on the couch with a happy groan. “So. Why do you think it’s an angel that sends these creatures after me?”

Aziraphale finished his tea and put the mug on the coffee table before leaning back in his seat. “Because, my dear, that urisk felt betrayed and lied to. It attacked me because it didn’t trust angels anymore.”

Crowley hummed. “Yeah, I see where you’re going. They were both far from home. So an angel captured them and released them near me, that’s what you think?”

Aziraphale pressed his lips in a firm line, a furious gleam in his eyes. “They were both wild and angry. They attacked us without warning, which is odd even for an urisk. These two species aren’t usually that aggressive. Not without prompting at least. Plus,” he added seriously, “the leshy was _starving_.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute. You think an angel is _torturing_ holy creatures only so they can destroy me?”

His friend nodded grimly.

“Come on, angel. That should be a Falling offence, right? I mean, what kind of a sick bastard of an angel would do that? And why? Not that I don’t know how important I am, but I really don’t see why someone Up There would be angry enough at m-”

He stopped mid-sentence, and caught his friend’s stern gaze. “Oh. It’s about you.”

“I am afraid so. And after the Archangel’s punishment, I really do not think anyone in the Host would dare attack either of us. But the Archangels did lose their powers for several years, and I am certain they are not happy about it. Since trying to destroy me is what get them here, I imagine destroying you is the best attempt at revenge they could think of.”

“Who do you think it is?” asked Crowley, thinking about the options. Michael was out of the equation, since she wasn’t an angel anymore*. 

*And thinking about it always made Crowley happy.

That left Uriel, who _seemed_ to be trying to change but could be lying, Gabriel, who was certainly pretentious enough to think his punishment was undeserved, and-

“Sandalphon,” declared Aziraphale without an ounce of hesitation. “It is him, I am sure."

* * *

Hastur had been observing the bookshop for the last few days from his favourite spot, hiding his presence as best he could.

That traitor little bastard Crowley had snitched on him and told Lord Beelzebub that he was harassing Aziraphale.

Harass! _Him,_ harassing the angel!

Anyway, Beelzebub had believed this blatant lie and ordered him to stay away from the two traitors.

As if. He knew the Lord of the Flies had met with Aziraphale while they were on Earth, stealing an apple into Eden. And as they returned, they had declared the angel and Crowley off limits. This could only mean one thing.

Beelzebub was in love with Aziraphale.

It made perfect sense. Any demon spending a small amount of time in his company would fall* for him.

*Again.

But Beelzebub was a greater threat than Crowley. They were an Archdemon, way stronger than Hastur. He couldn’t let them steal Aziraphale right under his nose.

So he kept watch, and prepared for his next meeting with his target.

Demons don’t need to sleep, even if some of them have developed a habit. He stood there for six days before sensing something strange.

An angel. Looking at the shop. Keeping watch. Just like him. He carefully circled the area, concealing his presence until he could get a good view of the wanker. His patience was well rewarded.

What in Heaven was Archangel stupid Sandalphon doing in London? Spying on the bookshop?

At first, he thought of discorporating him. Then he decided to follow him first, see where it led him.

And what he found was such a _great_ discovery.

Hastur licked his lips as he took in the rows of cages. Only good, benevolent creatures. Even some holy ones. All trapped here, by an _angel_. It was too good to be true.

A soft sound behind him had him spin on himself and lash out furiously,* only to send an Archangel flying** to the other side of the room where he landed with an awful noise that was pure delight to Hastur’s ears.

*You didn’t survive in Hell for very long if you let sounds get unnoticed behind you.

**Not _flying_ , flying. Only metaphorically.

“What have we got here?” purred the demon, walking towards his prey.

Sandalphon painstakingly got to his feet, his right arm hanging limply at his side.

“I think you broke something,” remarked Hastur with a wide grin.

“Begone, demon, before I smite you!” yelled the Archangel with a sneer.

“Do you really think you’re in a position to order me around, Sandy?” cackled the Duke of Hell. This was probably what Christmas felt like to humans, he realised. No wonder the poor buggers loved the holiday so much.

“Oh no, I don’t intend to go anywhere,” continued the demon, grabbing the Archangel’s throat, baring his teeth. “Why are you spying on Aziraphale? What are those creatures for? Do you intend to hurt him? Hurt _my_ angel?”

This was way too much for Hastur. First, that wanker Crowley, getting all cosy with the angel, living with him, having his _trust_! Then, Beelzebub taking an interest, and now a freaking Archangel trying to whoo him too?* No! No way! He was going to destroy that one right now, eliminate at least one of his rivals.

*Releasing an angry, ferocious creatures after someone was, in Hell at least, the human equivalent of sending fifty dozens roses and a quartet at your crush’ workplace.

“What are you talking about?” snarled Sandalphon. “I’m not after Aziraphale, that little teacher’s pet’s off limits. It’s the demon I want. Why do you care anyway?”

_Oh._

Hastur blinked. Looked around him. This was perfect. This was great. So here was an Archangel, in love with Crowley, trying to gain his heart in the purest fashion!

It could actually work. And if that stupid Crowley chose Sandalphon, then Aziraphale would be free!

Hastur turned back to the Archangel, a scary smile on his lips. “Oh, I care. I care _very_ much. Turns out for once, we want the same thing. I’ll help you if you help me. What do you say, Sandy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Sandalphon is the most improbable wingman EVER, and I don't even feel guilty^^  
> This will be fun. SOOOOOO much fun^^


	13. 13-Breathe in, Breathe out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time to devise a strategy before the next attack.  
> But maybe said attack will come sooner than expected...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok not going to lie, that was a very funny one to write^^  
> I had a good time. I love my boys!  
> And Bentley. Yes, BENTLEY IS HERE!

“I do not think it would be a good idea. No, of course we _want_ to see you, dearest! What- This has _nothing_ to do with trust! We trust you _very_ much, Adam! It is just that the situation is- oh no, please don’t cry, my dear!”

Aziraphale, eyes wild and begging, waved frantically at his friend, lounging on the couch with a smile that hadn’t stopped widening in the last five minutes. He was awfully proud of his nephew. Such a level of manipulation at his age was stunning. A natural, really.

But Aziraphale was on the verge of giving in, and that wouldn’t do. He got up and sauntered to the angel, extending his hand.

“Give me the phone.”

Aziraphale all but threw the receiver at him, relief etched on his every features.

“He is _crying_ , Crowley!” he mouthed silently.

Crowley shook his head fondly. “Oh, angel... You’re so cute.”

“Uncle Az?” asked a teary voice on the other side of the line.

“Nope,” answered Crowley shortly.

“Oh.”

“Yep.”

“I guess that means I won’t be allowed to join you, then.”

“Excellent deduction, Sherlock. Listen, we got this, okay? I promise we’ll tell you if we need extra help. Is that good to you?”

The Antichrist grumbled something that sounded slightly like a reluctant assent.

“We handled worse before, kid. Have fun with your friends. Get grounded. Wreck havoc*. You’re twelve. When you’ll be twenty we’ll allow you to tag along when there’s danger-”

“CROWLEY!”

The demon blinked, looked at his friend, and whispered in the receiver “I meant twenty-five. Okay, we’ll call you tomorrow, same hour, ciao!”

*At that particular advice, Aziraphale took in a scandalised breath.

Ignoring the indignant yells and barks of their nephew and Hellhound, Crowley hung up.

"All right, that’s settled then,” declared the angel with a satisfied nod. Crowley wondered for a second if his friend had pretended to be upset just to let him deal with Adam,* then decided (wisely) to let it go.

*And the demon knew he would _never_ be sure.

“So,” resumed Crowley, counting on his fingers, “next move is to find Sandalphon. Heaven can’t track him down since he’s been cut from his powers, no one have seen him in months, and he probably has an eye on us since he sent his beasts exactly where I was both times. Oh, I almost forgot,” he added with a pleasant smile. “He’s got mad, hungry beast under his thumb, and will release them on us in a heartbeat if we get too close.”

“You know, my dear,” huffed Aziraphale, lifting the till off the counter to bring it to the backroom*, “I really do not think sarcasm will be of any help in this particular circumstance. I might be wrong, of course,” he added with a soft smile and a pointed raised eyebrow.

*The till was unfortunately broken (or so the angel had declared). It needed fixing, and was so ancient only one very old woman in Germany was still able to repair it**. The bookshop would regretfully have to close for as long as the shipping and fixing would need.

**Well obviously some shops in England _claimed_ being able to do it, but Aziraphale would only hire the best. And farthest.

“Good thing is,” added Crowley, ignoring the angel’s interruption, “there was a two weeks delay between the attacks. Means we have some time to devise a strategy.”

* * *

Parked on the other side of the street, half on a parking place, half on another, Bentley was dozing off. The afternoon had been full of emotions, first sensing father under attack, then the angel being hurt, and the drive back home at breakneck speed to put her father and friend out of harm's way.

She was feeling tired, and now that she was assured of everyone’s safety*, she just wanted to rest.

* Father and Aziraphale were in the Bookshop. She pitied anyone fool enough to try to hurt them while under the building’s protection.

In her half conscious state, it took her a while to realise something unusual was happening.

What raised a red flag was the big, drooling, green creature with some sort of water splashing over its head that stopped right next to her and looked at the Bookshop with such hatred even she could feel it in her heart. And she didn’t have a heart.

The thing was carrying something familiar in one of its… hands? Claws? Whatever. Bentley couldn’t smell, but she would have recognised her father’s occult energy anywhere.

That piece of fabric reeked out of him. And the creature raised it to its snout before glaring at the Bookshop’s door anew.

Bentley was a sweet, calm car. She almost never lost her cool, was a sturdy, dutiful daughter with a sweet temper.

She looked at the creature. Saw its predatory stance as it crouched right in front of her, wiggling like a cat about to leap.

The thing about sweet, calm people? You don’t want to see them get angry.

* * *

The commotion started without warning. Blaring horn, slamming doors, and the sound of an engine that seemed closer to a fighter aircraft than a car resounded along the street, breaking several windows, activating a dozen car alarms, and rousing Ms. Meashel’s cat, who looked up, yawned, and retreaded inside his building with the dignity of an emperor.

Crowley was the first to run out, eyes wild. This wasn’t just any engine, it was _his baby_ calling for help!

The sight that greeted him was almost unbearable. Bentley, shaking wildly, was fighting with something on her back’s seat. Every time the creature tried to reach a door* she slammed it back into its head with a furious roar. Finally, with a terrified screech, the monster leaped through the wind-shield and ran away, bleeding and yelping.

*And it tried. It _really_ tried.

Aziraphale almost caught it, his fingers grazing the creature’s neck, and for a second he looked like he was about to chase after it.

Then he stopped and stood still for a second, let go of the flaming poker he held in his hand, and looked behind him with concern.

“Oh. Oh, my dear, I am _ever_ so sorry...”

“My baby!” lamented Crowley, looking at his car in shock.

“Do not worry, dear boy, we will heal her right away. She will be perfectly fine in just a second.”

“My baby!” wailed Crowley, standing still.

Aziraphale used a rather large miracle to put every human in the vicinity to rest, and every person reaching out to their door or peering through their window suddenly wondered what they had been doing in the last minute. He could feel his Bookshop's concern and boiling anger, and tried to send it a reassuring nudge while talking to his friend.

“Crowley? Dearest? It is fine, I promise you I will heal your dear car. Look, healing it right now!”

“My baby!” whimpered Crowley, not even listening, still looking at his car in horror.

“Oh dear… Crowley? Do you even hear me? Look! She’s almost entirely fixed. I only have the shield to miracle back now. Please, take a deep breath in, my dear. Foccus on my voice, and breathe.”

“My baby...” whispered Crowley, sitting (collapsing) on the ground, and trying his best to follow his friend’s instructions.

Aziraphale finished his angelic repai- _healing_ , lips shut tight, an angry crease between his eyebrows. This was _not_ to be borne. He could understand the attacks on Crowley or himself. They were fair game, and could fight back. They certainly were Sandalphon’s enemies. But attacking _the Bentley_ ? Hurting a poor, harmless car _and_ putting his dear demon in such a dreadful state?

There had been things on which Aziraphale and Crowley hadn’t seen eye to eye along the millennia. But they'd always agreed on the fact that children were innocents, and should _never_ be harmed.

Sandalphon needed to be found and smote.

And he _would_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you had fun!!  
> Thank you all for reading and enjoying my fics. I am so happy to know I can make you laugh. Love you all, my dear readers, take good care of yourselves!
> 
> Tomorrow's theme is "Is Something Burning?" with the prompts "branding" "heat exhaustion" and "fire".  
> Yes. FIRE.  
> It won't be difficult to find a story.  
> Not difficult AT ALL!  
> Prepare for ANGST everyone!


	14. 14-Is Something Burning?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bookshop is burning, and Crowley is too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeeeeeeell... angst was difficult to avoid with the BURNING prompt.  
> But I still tried my best to make it fluffy^^

* * *

The bookshop was burning. Crowley couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, and worse than all couldn’t tear his eyes away.

There was no point in staying here, no point in rushing inside and calling, he knew it. No one would answer.

Aziraphale was gone, and it was _his fault_. 

The sentence he’d uttered in the receiver replayed in his mind, again and again.

“Yeah, it’s not a good time, got an old friend here.”

_He called for help._

_And I hung up on him._

Obviously Hastur and Ligur hadn’t been the only team sent on Earth to tie loose ends. Someone attacked the angel at the same time the two Dukes of Hell tried to collect Crowley.

And he wasn’t there.

_My fault. I abandoned him._

_“I won't even think about you,”_ he’d said.

_“Yeah, it’s not a good time.”_

These were the last words he offered his freaking best friend of six thousand years. The only person that ever gave a shit about him. That loved him, without condition, without asking him to change. Who let him question without judging him.

Who loved humanity, and the world, and didn’t see them as pawns in a celestial chess play, just like him.

He _hung up_ on him.

The Bookshop was burning, and Crowley only wanted the world to end already. 

It had for him, and it should for _everyone else_.

If Heaven and Hell didn’t destroy Earth, then **_he_ ** would. He would **_end_ ** every **_miserable_ ** life on this ball of clay that **_dared_ ** let the angel die as he tried to **_save_ **it.

 **They would all** **_BURN_ ** **for it!**

**They would-**

* * *

Something was wrong.

Someone needed him.

Anguish. _Angelic_ anguish.

_Aziraphale was upset._

Blinking rapidly, Crowley woke up, looking around with a disoriented expression.

Where was-

Was it the bookshop? But it _burned_. It… it did. Didn’t it?

Aziraphale’s voice cut through his haze like a scalpel.

 _A dream._ Only a dream. It hadn’t been his first one (fire had been taking a leading part in his nightmare this last year), but it was the first that had seemed so _real_.

He focussed on the voices coming from the bookshop.

“I want to buy a Guthemberg bible, and someone told me you could get any book if people paid the price,” said the person.

Crowley wasn’t in the same room, but he didn’t need to to imagine his friend's wrathful expression.

“I _beg your pardon_ ? A _Gutenberg bible_ ? Why not The original Tables of the Law while you’re at it? There are things money cannot buy, my dear Sir! Now I will ask you to leave my shop and _never_ come back!”

The door slammed, really _slammed_ , and Crowley shot to his feet and shoved his glasses up his nose, slithering into the bookshop. In all his time around Aziraphale he only saw him lose his temper with a customer four times, and it was worrying.

“What a rude human!” exclaimed an incensed (and slightly frantic) angel.

“Yeah, some people just think money will get them anything,” drawled the demon, patting his friend’s shoulder soothingly. He wasn’t the comforting type (he was a mean demon), but Aziraphale was very attached to some of his books* and the mere thought of someone wanting one of them could send him in a snit, and Crowley would rather appear caring (ugh!) than let his friend freak out like that.

*More attached than he usually was, that is.

The demon followed closely as Aziraphale locked the door and almost ran into the backroom, opened the Bibles Shelve’s glass door, and nodded with a relieved expression at his Gutemberg bible.*

*Vellum. Red titles.

“Annngel, no need to freak out. Where did you want it to be? Of course it’s safe. Close that thing and let’s eat out, yeah?”

Aziraphale mumbled something unintelligible, brow furrowed, still looking at his bibles. Crowley knew what was going through the angel’s head. There was a powerful, rich human outside, wanting to buy a sweet, ancient, innocent book. He _would_ find one, and would show it to his friends like a trophy.

_Without gloves._

The demon tilted his head with a predatory grin. “On second thoughts, give me a moment. Got an errand to run first. Back in twenty, okay?”

Aziraphale turned to him with one of his blinding smiles. “Oh, my dear! Would you really?”

“No idea what you’re talking about, angel. Be ready at half past six. I’m not joking. I won’t wait for you* if you’re not at the door!”

*He would. They both knew it.

“Of course I will be, Crowley!* I always am on time!” tutted the angel, closing the glass door and aiming for the stairs with a spring in his steps.

*He would not. They both knew it.

Crowley chuckled, and aimed for the door, snapping the Bentley’s keys into his hand.

A little, crafted demonic temptation, and that stupid human would stop annoying his angel and turn towards a more interesting collection.*

*Like alimony. He would soon receive a lot of requests for them. But he had enough money to share after all, and every kid should be able to go to college if they so desired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next theme is "Into the Unknow"  
> With the tags "Possession", "Magical Healing" and "Science Gone Wrong".  
> This will be difficult to pick^^  
> I may multiprompt on this one. Definitely going for the possession one. And Healing. And...  
> Rhaaaa!!! Too many prooooompts!
> 
> So. I'm SUPRA LATE for Whumptober. Only wrote 14 out of 31 and I don't want to look at the date...  
> Oh God. I looked.  
> This weekend needs to be productive, or I'll never make it. :)


	15. 18-Panic! At the Disco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale may have hidden something to his friend for over a year.  
> It's coming to bit him in the arse today...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooo  
> I have TROUBLE writing! these last four days have been so frustrating, I wrote, deleted, wrote again... ugh, it was a nightmare.  
> But I decided to stop following the numbers and write something that inspired me, that's why we are directly here, at theme 18^^  
> I still intend to write all the themes, but I will follow my mood instead of the numbers order.  
> Gosh, I am such a REBEL today!  
> (My inner Aziraphale is both shocked and delighted^^)  
> I hope you'll like it! It is quite angsty, but I've wanted to write this for a long time.
> 
> This chapter is for trenchcoat_on_a_tortilla, who wanted to read about it as much as I wanted to write it^^  
> (Apparently I can't gift a chapter to someone... that's sad. I wanted to!)

“I am sure he was heading in this direction, dear boy.”

“And I’m sure I saw him turn _right_ , angel! Who’s got the demon’s eyes here, mh?”

“No need to get smug, there is plenty of light where we are standing and I saw something move on the _left_!”

“Got it. I’ll take right, you’ll take left, loser pays lunch.”

“Crowley! I didn’t mean- -oh, bother, you’re gone already.”

Aziraphale looked around with a haughty pout. Sewers. _Really_. Could Crowley have one of his demonic wiles go wrong in a nice place, for once? Was it too much to ask? Apparently, it was. And now he was wading through… water.

 _Yes, let us call_ _it_ _water,_ _do_ not _look at it too closely, it is certainly clean, clear water._

Well, no use in standing here waiting. He had a crocodile to find. Resolutely, the angel turned to the _left_ , and started walking.

The problem didn’t appear right away. There was still light, and Aziraphale was too focused on pouting. Not trusting his eyes, really? He may not see in the dark as easily as his friend, but he was certain he’d seen something moving that way and Crowley’s mocking was utterly undeserved.

It took a full half minute before the angel stopped and frowned. It was getting very dark, and the echoes of his footsteps were making him feel weird. He turned around.

Darkness. Darkness everywhere. Where was the entry? Where was Crowley?

 _Lost_. Lost in the dark, and alone.

All at once, the memories rushed back, overwhelming.

The darkness, the corridors trapping him. The walls everywhere. The echoes, the _despair_ he could taste in the air.

Angels weren’t made to enter Hell, and he’d understood why as soon as he had exited the elevator, the day after Armageddon. Demons certainly enjoyed sensing dark, sad feelings (Crowley had told him as much, on multiple occasions) and Hell was made for them.

If there was a flavour for the opposite of hope, then it was how the walls would taste.*

*They did. Beelzebub even had to declare the licking of said walls forbidden, or nothing would have ever been done in Hell.

Aziraphale took in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to remember himself that he was on Earth, safe. It wasn’t Hell, it wasn’t the same dark or the same damp, it was-

His back hit the wall and tensed, curling up on himself, hands shooting to his scalp.

 _This is not_ real _. It is in your head. Get a_ fudging _grip, Aziraphale! You cannot let a little dark affect you like this!_

He could feel himself tremble, feel tears streaming down his cheeks. He had no idea if it was out of anger of terror.

Part of him wanted to yell and run, to get out of here by any means. Another, stronger part was just too terrified to make him move. The last part, that stubborn streak he could always feel right under the surface, was snapping at him, telling him to stop being ridiculous _right this instant_ and _get back_ to the task at hand.

Stubbornness yielded first. In others circumstances, it may have won. But the angel had no one to protect beside himself, and as Crowley often put it “you’re crap at self-preservation, angel.”

Then the flight reflex crumbled too, and Aziraphale couldn’t even think anymore, his mind frozen.

Slowly, the angel slid against the wall and kneeled into the muddy water, hunching over and burying his face in his arms.

Somewhere a little on the left, something moved and growled.

* * *

Crowley was having a _great_ time. First, it was dark. And even if his serpentine side craved sun and heat, darkness was something his demonic nature could always appreciate.

Then, he was about to win a bet with Aziraphale, and that was always a good way to start a day. He was sure the angel was pouting right now, and making that pinched face that meant he was seriously displeased as he realised there was no crocodile on his side of the sewers.

And, yes, the crocodile situation was putting a little bit of a damper on it, but Crowley knew he would make everything better very soon. All right, the animal was grumpy, moody, and loved to terrify humans, but he never had truly attacked one until then, and the news about that guy that had been bitten must be a lie.

It must be, decided Crowley with a nod. Rudolph would never bite someone. Unless that someone hurt him first.

That was Crowley’s fear. If that stupid human had harmed his poor little lizard, a bite would be the _last_ of his problems.

Somewhere on the right, something moved. Crowley smiled. He’d known he saw something! The angel was such a loser!

“Rudolph? That you, buddy? Come here, it’s me. I’ve got some nice ham for y-”

As something hit him, knocking him to the ground and tearing his jacket, Crowley realised two things:

-This was _not_ Rudolph.

-Maybe he should have started with interrogating the human. Then he would have recognised that bite mark for what it was.

After all, kappa’s teeth were _very_ distinctive.

“Oh. That’s you, you little fucker,” he growled, his hands curling around the creature’s neck.

He could feel his skin turning into scales, and let go of the other as his limbs disappeared. He curled over and over around his prey.

“You hurt my baby, you sssssucker. Oh, thissss iss gonna _hurt_ , mate. No one touchesss my precssssiouss girl.”

The kappa shrieked, trying to escape. Crowley chuckled darkly, baring his fangs.

Somewhere far away, something growled ominously. The echoes rolled in every direction. Crowley stopped. The only reason he didn’t blink was his current absence of eyelids.

Serpent body had a different way to think. When about to strike, it had a very, very simple-minded brain. But Crowley, even furious and bloodthirsty as he currently was, was still able to do some common maths.

He had a kappa ( _the_ kappa) in his grasp. But he hadn’t been chasing a kappa, he’d been searching for Rudolph.

Rudolph wasn’t a kappa. And that growl just now was absolutely a crocodile one. An angry, _very_ pissed off crocodile’s growl.

Aziraphale had _said_ he had seen something move.

Where _was_ Aziraphale?

Rapidly, Crowley uncoiled and changed back to his human form, not even sparing a glance to the kappa that ran away as fast as possible, not believing its luck.

He focussed on his friend’s presence, but it was so thin he couldn’t pinpoint it exactly.

“The _fuck_?” he murmured, starting to run towards Rudolph’s furious rumble.

He’d never sensed his scaly friend so angry, and that was not reassuring. Rudolph was a grouchy, bad-tempered, cold blooded guy who loved nothing more than peace and solitude, but he loved Crowley who’d raised him after finding him abandoned by his former ‘caretakers’, and he _adored_ Aziraphale.

For him to get that angry could only mean one thing: something had happened to the angel.

There wasn’t a lot of things on Earth that could hurt an angel*, and they had an angry, ruthless Sandalphon after them**. It had to be him.

*Specially this one.

** And a besotted Duke of Hell with the courting methods of a bulldozer. But Crowley was pretty sure Hastur wasn’t on Earth at the moment.***

***Crowley was wrong.

So when the demon screeched to a halt near his catatonic friend, fanged bared, eyes entirely yellow and the flickering of Hellfire in his hand, it took him a few seconds before realizing there wasn’t a target in view.

Rudolph, standing guard near the angel, growled at him.

Crowley shook his hand to get rid of the fire, staring at Aziraphale’s prone form. He couldn’t smell ichor, and the angel’s aura didn’t seem hurt. He knew that stance, even if he’d only seen it a handful of time in the millennia of their acquaintance.

Rudolph pushed him in the shin.

“Yeah, it’s okay now, buddy. I’ll take care of that,” he said soothingly, still focussed on the angel, and he patted absent-mindedly between the crocodile’s eyes as he crouched near his friend.

Rudolph grumbled something and waded a few meters away.

Crowley tilted his head. “Aziraphale?” he asked cautiously. He wasn’t very surprised not to have an answer.

He’d known his friend had had trouble with dark and closed space after his bathtub trial in Hell, but it had been more than a year ago and Aziraphale had seemed _fine_ these last months, and Crowley had assumed he _was_ fine, and stopped thinking about it.

Obviously that sly bastard wasn’t feeling better at all. He’d only found ways to conceal his troubles, and had never spoken about it, like… well, like them, not talking about problems.

“ _Bless it_ , angel. Why didn’t you tell me?”

It was pure rhetoric. He knew why. He _knew_ Aziraphale would never want to openly add another fault to his long list of (illusionary) defects.

“Come on, Aziraphale. Let’s go home, okay?”

He reached out, one hand snaking around the angel’s shoulders, the other gently landing on his hair. His friend tensed even more for a second, then relaxed minutely.

“You’re stupid, you know that?” grumbled Crowley, focussing on the bookshop’s location. “Not saying anything and keeping it locked inside like that. You _cried_ watching Frozen*, for Satan’s sake, you _know_ burying feelings is never the solution.” he added, snapping his fingers to transport them home.

*Aziraphale had had _a lot_ of things to say about Elsa’s education.**

**They _may_ have had a pretty long nightcap before starting the movie. It was always hilarious to watch a Disney movie with tipsy Aziraphale. The angel yelled _a lot_ and tended to explode the television halfway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know there's not a lot of comfort but it will come in next story!!  
> Prepare for some overprotective Crowley (Aziraphale has been emotionaly hurt twice in a few days now, our demon can NOT feel good about it).
> 
> Aziraphale didn't have a panic attack during "from Hell, with love" because at first he was too angry, then his wing was broken and hurt too much, and finally, he had Adam to protect and save. Plus, things weren't that bad at the time. He let it grow (and this second adventure in Hell didn't help at all).  
> I hope it makes sense. I don't want to imply that panic attacks can be easily pushed aside.


	16. 25. I think I'll just Collapse Right Here, Thanks.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandalphon and Hastur decide to strike again.  
> Meanwhile, our angel and demon don't agree on a strategy, and aren't ready for what is coming after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is "Blurred vision"  
> We will see here the consequences of Aziraphale's panic attack in chapter 15, and I think next chapter will be pure fluff and comfort, because honestly our boys need a break.

“It’s your fault! That kappa was supposed to attack Crowley!”

“It’s the _car’s_ fault, not mine! I will destroy that piece of junk!”

“You can’t destroy the _car_! Crowley would never like you after that!”

Sandalphon refrained from answering that he _didn’t care one bit_ if Crowley hated him. It had only taken him a few hours before realising the Duke of Hell was:

-Disgustingly in love with Aziraphale. Which wasn’t that much of a surprise, Aziraphale being disgusting himself.

-Easy to manipulate as soon as you claimed knowing the Principality very well and being ready to help gain his affections.

-Under the assumption that he, Sandalphon, wanted to impress Crowley and gain his heart (as if).

-Dumb.

But he also was strong and ruthless, and Sandalphon currently being cut from his powers, he could use the help.

So he’d played along and didn’t correct the demon on his plans. After all, Hastur believed they were both trying to separate Aziraphale from Crowley, and he wasn’t wrong.

Once Crowley was destroyed, it would be a separation indeed. And God couldn’t very well punish him, an Archangel, for destroying a _demon_ , right?

He couldn’t wait to see Aziraphale’s face. To feel his sorrow. Fraternizing with the enemy, plotting with him for centuries, right under Heaven’s nose! This called for punishment. And Sandalphon was a _specialist_ in punishment.

“Listen, Hastur. Our two last tries didn’t work, so we need to hit hard. We have to use _them_.”

The Duke of Hell crossed his arms and huffed. “It took me days to catch so many, and you want to unleash them already? I wanted to play with them a little!”

Sandalphon straightened his back. “You gave them a demon to eat _yesterday_. Isn’t it playing enough? By the way, what had he done to deserve it?”

Hastur shrugged it off. “Who cares? It was only Eric.*”

*Killing Eric was always a good laugh. If you wanted to unwind in Hell, this was the usual way of doing it.**

**Ironically, even Eric got frustrated enough to do it sometimes. That was one of the up sides of having millions of occult bodies for one mind.

Sandalphon nodded, impressed. There was no such thing as destroying someone without a reason in Heaven*, and he had to admit that it sometimes seemed like a shame.

*Of course it didn’t have to be a _good_ reason.

“Let’s use them. Today.”

* * *

“I think we should stay in London, and wait to know more. Where do you even want to _search_ , angel? We don't have a clue!”

Crowley was using his 'unhappy' posture, jaw tight, corners of the mouth down, hands deeply shoved in his pockets and shoulders hunched.

Sighing, Aziraphale patted his waistcoat's buttons absent-mindedly. He didn't like it at all when he and his friend weren't of the same mind, but the situation was way too serious to change his mind.

“We have to find Sandalphon and stop him at once. Waiting will only give him more time to plan his next attack.”

“Waiting will give usss time to plan protecsssion!” whispered Crowley angrily. The woman in front of them in the waiting line turned to him as she heard the hiss and gave him a contemptuous once over.

Aziraphale's eyes took that eery, shining light blue he always sported when his anger got to strong to hide his ethereal nature, and he _glared_ at her.

She paled and walked out as fast as she could, her errands forgotten.

Crowley grimaced. He was all for frightening stupid humans, it was one of his favourite games, but it didn’t feel right when it came from Aziraphale. He took in a deep breath.

“Angel...” he started, reaching out to touch his friend's shoulder.

“Let us leave,” cut Aziraphale, turning sharply on his heels and aiming for the door.

The demon tightened his grip and stood still. “No. We're grabbing lunch first.”

“ _Lunch_ ,” muttered the angel with a frown, looking away. “Who cares about _lunch_?”

“ _You_ do. You _love_ lunch.”

“I do not need it, and we have to find-”

“Hey! Stop thinking for one second, all right? You're freaking out, you need to calm down,” cut Crowley soothingly.

“How can _you_ be so calm?”

How indeed, wondered Crowley. Well, the answer was simple enough: he was the target, not Aziraphale. Had the roles been reversed, he would probably be the one ready to lash out every five seconds.

Plus, his angel was a protector, and a fighter at heart. Knowing there was a threat and not being able to act on it? Not knowing where the danger was exactly? It was like Aziraphale's worst nightmare coming alive.

The angel needed a target.

“We'll get back to the bookshop and think about a strategy. Sandalphon is too stupid to get us anyway. We'll be _fine_.”

“We thought we were fine last time! We thought we had time to think before his next attack, and look where it got us,” grumbled Aziraphale, glaring ( _glaring_ , realised Crowley worriedly) at the cake display.

The demon handed his credit card to the cashier as his friend considered the desserts with distaste. Well that wouldn't do. If _Aziraphale_ didn't feel in the mood for cake, then it truly was the end of the wo-

His thoughts screeched to a halt as his occult senses tingled under a sensation only a demon could recognise.

He whirled, yelling “DOWN!”

In a blink, Aziraphale plunged on the two humans waiting in the line behind him, unfolding his wings as he crushed them to the ground.

Something erupted in a plane no human being* could see and Crowley barely had time enough to summon a shield to protect himself and the cashier.

*Except maybe Anathema and other _special_ humans.

“Crowley!” yelled Aziraphale from the floor.

“On it,” answered the demon, rushing out.

“No! Crowley, _wait_!”

But he was in no mood to wait. Something was out to get them, something evil, and he'll be _blessed_ if he didn't take it down before it attacked again.

As he ran towards the other side of the street, he vaguely felt the tingle of a healing coming from his friend.

 _Hurt humans_ , he thought distractedly. That would slow Aziraphale down. Good.

He knew that sensation, had experienced it before, but never on Earth. This was Hell-sylphs, and no way an Archangel could have caught some of them Down There to release on Earth. These things were small, but their teeth were sharp, and probably as poisonous to an angel as that of a Hellhound. And they were organized enough to use their powers to create the kind of blast that had hit the bakery.

He should not give them enough time for another one.

“Shit shit shit shit shit!” he growled through gritted teeth, dashing into an alleyway.

Good news was, he could feel them following after him, far away from the main street.

Far away from Aziraphale.

He could also feel the angel’s ethereal spirit reaching out for him, but he hid his presence while he thought about the best way to get rid of the little monsters.

Summoning Hellfire wouldn’t help at all. In fact they would probably like it, since Hell-sylphs were always buzzing near the pools of liquid sulphur.

But water… that could be enough to repel them. Still running, Crowley snapped his fingers towards a fire hydrant. The thing exploded, and in a second the demon was drenched.

A second was exactly the time necessary to realise that Hell-sylphs didn’t really like water, but didn’t hate it enough to bugger off. He hissed at the first bites, and looked around wildly in search of a weapon.

_Garbage can lid!_

He grabbed the thing and swung it wildly. The _thunk_ as he hit one of the tiny creatures was highly satisfying. The Hell-sylphs retreated a few yards away, buzzing maddly.

“Come on, you fuckers! I’m waiting for you!” yelled the demon angrily. He was too furious to care about the dark blood oozing from his arms and legs. His hair was a mess, he’d lost his glasses and his jacket was torn. All his perfect clothes were clinging to his skin in the uncoolest fashion, and if even one human thought of taking a picture of him in this state and put it online, he would damn them for all eternity.*

*Crowley didn’t imagine for one second that a human may prefer to focus on the demonic winged creatures around him.

The Hell-sylphs screeched and plunged. Crowley grinned like a shark. Then he felt the tingle of an apparition, and barely had time to notice the white wings spread in front of him in a defensive stance.

The air around him shifted, and he closed his eyes, turning away from the blinding light and the burning sensation of a smiting.

This was not good. This was not good at all. Aziraphale shouldn’t be here, it wasn’t _safe_!

The light receded, and Crowley straightened and turned around, dark spots dancing in front of his eyes. His friend’s wings had protected him from most of it, but a smiting, even aimed elsewhere, and even from Aziraphale, whose Grace he was attuned to, still tended to sting a lot. He reached out to grab his friend's arm.

“Angel? You all right? Are you hurt?”

Aziraphale swatted his hands away, looking as furious as he had been a few minutes before in the bakery.

“What in the name of the Almighty are you _doing_ , Crowley?” he snapped.

“Whot? I didn’t do a thing!” protested the demon.

The angel glared. “I was _searching_ for you! You pushed me away!

Crowley shook his head to get his sight in working order. It didn’t work.

“I didn’t _push_ you. Just wanted you to… you know. Stay out of it.”

“Stay _out of it_?” repeated Aziraphale in a voice so cold it could have frozen an entire continent.

“Weeeell… you know. I didn’t need help. Everything was under control, really.”

“You are _bleeding_ on the _pavement_ , Crowley!”

“I’m fiiiine!”

“Why didn’t you wait for me? We could have found a way to get rid of them without anyone getting hurt. This was reckless!”

“ _I’m reckless_? You just burned half of your Grace to get rid of a bunch of stupid Hell-sylphs!”

“I was _worried_ about you! You were hiding from me, I thought something really bad was happening, Crowley! Why did you do that?”

Crowley never had been the patient kind, and keeping his calm wasn’t his greatest quality.

“Because I didn’t want you to fight and get hurt! That’s why!” he yelled.

Aziraphale blinked, his anger giving way to offence.

“I think I proved numerous times that I am perfectly able to fight, and it never bothered you before,” he said in a tight voice, brushing his sleeves.

Crowley grimaced. This was not heading anywhere good.

“I know that, angel,” he started in a soothing voice. “But after everything that happened lately, I thought that -- well, maybe, you’d need… you know? Some time to-”

A sharp intake of breath made the demon startle.

“You do not _trust_ me since the… since the incident in the sewers, is that what you mean?”

Crowley raised his hand, eyebrows shooting up. “What? No! Course I trust you!”

“But you think I can break down at any moment, is that it?” accused Aziraphale. “Is that why you are so insistent on staying put and devising a plan? You think going after Sandalphon would end poorly because I am _fragile!_ ”

“Nononono!!! I never thought that about you!” pleaded Crowley.

Aziraphale’s ire brusquely deflated. “Do not lie to me,” he said, looking down. “I understand. Of course I do, this is – this is why I didn’t want you to see me like this in the first place.”

“ _Satan’s bollocks!_ ” hissed Crowley, arms flailing around “I’m not thinking _that_! It’s just – It’s been twice that you’ve been in a bad place lately, first with the urisk, and then with Rudolph, and it was my fault each time, and I – I don’t _like_ it, okay? I don’t like to see you like this, specially because of me!”

Aziraphale looked up with a frown and considered his friend’s frantic movements.

“Are you telling me that you are feeling guilty?”

Crowley blushed and folded his arms.

“Course not. I’m a demon, I don’t do guilt. Would be ridiculous.”

“Indeed. Especially since none of this is your fault to begin with, as you perfectly know. So if you really do not think me diminished in any way, I will ask you to stop that hurtful behaviour towards me this instant.”

“You’re not _diminished_ , angel!”

“Well, excuse me but you are sending very mixed messages. I am quite cross with you, my dear.”

Tension disappeared in the demon’s demeanour. Aziraphale was pouting. He could do with a pouting angel.

“I won’t do it again, promise. How can I redeem myself? Say the word, anything you want, angel.”

“Well give me your hands, then. Look at you, really, my dear, you are covered in blood! Oh, your poor jacket!”

Tutting, Aziraphale started to heal his friend. Crowley wondered if the sushi shop was opened already.

Of course there was still the matter of infernal creatures being released on Earth to hurt them. _This_ could not be Sandalphon’s doing. But that wasn’t Crowley’s priority right now.

First, buying sushi.

He wasn’t trying to _apologise_. Certainly not. Demons don’t do that.

But sushi could never hurt, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm already writing next chapter. I'm dying for some fluff^^  
> My country is starting another lockdown, and it's a little depressing, but it's needed.  
> But the dental clinics are still opened, so at least I can work and talk to people.  
> Stay safe everyone. I hope my stories will make you smile!


	17. 17-I Did Not See That Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Them are about to have an afternoon full of surprises...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no prompt for this one, only the Theme "I did not see that coming".  
> I really hope you'll like it guys, I wrote for two hours right after work, just to distract myself and my dear, perfect, adorable beta Megzseattle from the news.  
> Love you Meg, this story is for you!

This was a perfectly lovely Sunday afternoon in Tadfield. Not that Tadfield had any other kind, of course. Pursing her lips, Anathema watched the Them that were sitting at her kitchen’s table, eating scones with warm cocoa.*

*The scones were still warm from the oven. Newton was an amazing cook, and the young witch hadn’t had a to go meal to eat in months.**

**Not that Anathema was a bad cook herself. When your major occupation is about mixing ingredients with less than a milligram's margin of error, you have to excel at the task. But after a full day’s work of experiments and potions, the last thing you want is to do the same in your free time.

“Sooo,” she started. Adam stopped eating, carefully deposited his half eaten scone near his mug, and considered her warily. The others only looked up in interest.

 _Oh yes,_ _he knows something_ , thought the witch, sparing a glance at her husband. Newt didn’t seem to have noticed, but she knew him way too well. Newt always saw _everything_.

“As you can see, Crowley and Aziraphale couldn’t make it today. That’s the second week in a row.”

Pepper nodded and finished her cocoa. Brian, deciding that Adam wouldn’t finish his scone, stole the Antichrist’s snack.

“Yes, they called. They will probably come next week,” said Wensley, carefully cleaning his side of the table.

“They called you?” wondered Newt.

“No, Adam.”

Witch and witch finder turned to the leader of the Them.

“What?” he asked, squinting.

“They have cancelled on Sunday’s teatime. Twice. And they didn’t give any explanation,” said Anathema, glaring back.

“Why didn’t you ask?”

“Because they cancelled by text and don’t answer their phones,” growled the young woman. “You know something, Adam, I see it! Speak!”

Pepper rolled her eyes. She had a nine-year long experience of how to obtain answers from her best friend, and snapping at him was never the right way.*

*The right way being to wait for Brian or Wensley to ask the question themselves. Pepper liked to snap, and didn’t intend to change her ways.

  
  


“We are worried,” added Newt, handing another scone to Brian and accidentally dropping two others on the floor in the process. “Are they in trouble? Do they need help? Please, Adam, we’re really concerned.”

Once again, Anathema observed first-hand her husband’s ability at obtaining anything he wanted without even trying to be sly.*

*It worked more or less given the persons. Newt’s bright, innocent eyes were awfully useful against Crowley, for example. Anathema knew that her husband was the demon’s Kryptonite, and she used it to her full advantage every time she needed it.

  
  


Adam sighed in defeat. “I’m not supposed to tell. They’ve been attacked by some kind of Holy creatures. They don’t know when it will stop. Someone’s angry at them and tries to hurt them. They won’t let me help,” he added with a pout.

“What?” shot Pepper angrily.

“What?” asked Wensley, worried.

Brian looked under the table in search of the two fallen scones only to be greeted by a smug Hellhound trying his best to appear innocent.

“They’re fine!” promised Adam, raising his hands to stop the questions. “They just need to find out who’s after them and take care of them. It’s not the first time they have to handle something like that.”

He was repeating the exact same words his uncles had offered him, and still didn’t believe them entirely. Adam was worried, but he had been forbidden to meddle, and he respected Crowley and Aziraphale too much to disobey.*

*Not when it concerned the use of his Antichrist’s powers, at least. Disobeying in any other circumstance was always an option he would consider.

  
  


“Maybe I could help,” wondered Anathema out loud. “If they know who they are looking for… or if I could trace back the creatures to where they came from… I think I have a few spells that could be useful.”

“Is it safe?” wondered Newt, looking at Adam. “Do you think we shouldn’t go there?”

The boy tilted his head this way and that, humming lightly. “It could be dangerous,” he reckoned. “But I don’t think you’re risking too much. Holy creatures don’t attack humans usually. Or very bad ones. But be careful, okay?”

“What about Fyre?” asked the young father, looking towards the baby’s room. As if on cue, a familiar wail answered him. Newt headed to the door and came back a few seconds later with a grumpy little bundle.

Adam smiled, and obtained a chubby frown. Brian grinned and waved, always delighted to see the baby, and Fyre answered with a bubbly “Pffrrtt” that only the natural child of a horse and a snail could have deciphered.

“She’s all right,” assured Adam. “You can take her, she won’t be in danger.”

“You just said there could be danger,” pointed Newt with a frown.

“For you. Not for Fyre.”

Anathema raised an eyebrow.

“I promise,” added Adam. “She’s safe.”

“All right. I’ll pack a trunk with everything I could need. Newt, prepare the car.”

“On it, love. Okay kids, sorry to chase you out like that, but we have to go.”

“You will call us, right?” demanded Pepper. “We want to be updated! Don’t try to hide what’s happening there from us!” she shot a glare to Adam, who had the decency to appear guilty.

“We will,” promised Newt. “Don’t worry, Anathema will help them get rid of the problem in a heartbeat.”

“I’ll prepare the baby bag!” cried Brian with enthusiasm.

“Well, I will make sure he doesn’t forget the diapers this time,” sighed Wensley, following on his friend’s wake.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Only twenty minutes later, the little gang waved at Newt and Anathema’s car as it pulled away.

Pepper crossed her arms and looked at their leader.

“They made me promise not to tell _anyone_ ,” said Adam.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, because you’re always so obedient!”

“Why don’t we play instead of fighting?” asked Brian. “We haven’t played for _ages_.”

“We played pirates half the afternoon,” recalled Wensley.

“Why don’t we go to the Johnsonites’ camp and try a surprise attack!” proposed Brian.

Adam and Pepper forgot to glare at each other. “Good idea,” admitted the Antichrist. “It’s been a while.”

“Since Wensley drowned,” provided Pepper.

“I didn’t drown!” protested Wensley. “Anyway, why don’t we play something else instead? Leave the Johsonites alone?”

His three friends turned to him in wonder. “But it’s our turn,” said Adam. “Last time, they abducted you. They’re waiting for our move.”

“Do we have to make a move? Maybe we should, you know… forget about it?”

A heavy silence settled. Adam tilted his head. “Are you all right, Wensley?”

Wensley blushed and crossed his arms defensively. “Yes. Why?”

“Because… we don’t make peace with the Johnsonites. They attack, we attack, that’s how it works. We can’t let them think it’s okay to kidnap one of the Them.”

“Or drown him,” grumbled Pepper.

“It was an accident!” yelled Wensley.

“It was,” agreed Brian. “But not the kidnapping. We can’t let that unanswered.”

“Exactly,” said Adam.

Wensley looked around miserably. “I… I don’t want to go there,” he finally whispered.

“Why?” asked Pepper.

“Because I don’t know what to tell him, and I don’t think I’ll be able to fight like usual, and I just don't want to think about it right now, that’s why!” erupted Wensley, losing his temper. “Is that so difficult to understand? I don’t want to go there!”

Pepper gaped, frozen on the spot. Adam looked wide eyed at his usually calm friend and even Dog sat brusquely, snapping his mouth shut.

“Ahh… Wensley? What’s wrong?” finally asked Brian cautiously.

The boy looked around in despair, then squared his shoulders decidedly. Better to let it out now. They would know eventually.

“I… like Greasy Johnson.”

Three pairs of eyes blinked in surprise.*

*Only three. This was not a surprise to Dog, who could smell emotions.

  
  


“What do you mean, you _like_ him? You don’t like him, he’s the leader of our enemies,” said Adam with great care.

He was really starting to wonder if Wensley had amnesia.

“I don’t like him like that, I like him, _like_ him,” explained Wensley in a way which both made no sense at all and explained everything.

Pepper gaped even more. Spluttered. Then found her voice back. “You’re _in love_ with Greasy?” she asked in disbelief.

Brian’s face clouded.

Wensley bit his lip and nodded. Adam looked from him to Pepper and back, unable to believe his ears.

“It’s Stockolm Syndrom,” he finally decided.

“No, it’s NOT” said Wensley. “It’s been a while. Before the accident.”

“EWWW!” yelled Pepper. “Not GREASY!”

“He is the leader of the enemies,” reminded Adam gently.

“Who cares about Greasy Johnson?” wondered Brian, shoving his hands in his pockets with a frown.

“Well, Wensley, apparently,” scoffed Pepper.

“You’re stupid, Pepper,” said Brian coldly.

“I beg your pardon?” hissed the girl, striding towards him, ready to fight.

“It’s not important who Wensley likes. What’s important is that he likes a _boy_ ,” pointed Brian. “And he just _told_ us. My mum says that in this case the only answer is to show support or you’re a bad friend and a stupid human being.”

He turned to Wensley. “I support you. We will kick Greasy’s ass until he’s good enough for you.”

Pepper blushed heavily, all her anger forgotten. “I’m sorry, Wensley. Of course it’s okay to like boys, I should have started with that.”

Wensley nodded to her timidly. She grimaced and hugged him hard.

Adam blinked at them. “I don’t understand,” he finally admitted.

Brian chuckled and patted his shoulder. “Never change.”

Pepper rolled her eyes*, letting go of Wensley. “Just tell him you’ll always be on his side.”

*And took advantage on Adam’s involuntary distraction to wipe them.

  
  


“Of course I will,” scoffed Adam with a shrug. “I will always be on his side. All of you. I love you,” he added as an evidence.

Wensley shot him a wobbly smile. “Love you too, guys.”

“Not as much as Greasy Johnson, though,” teased Pepper, earning a sharp elbow in the ribs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say that I love Brian?  
> I love that boy, ha ha^^  
> I love all of the Them really, but I like to write Brian as that boy that doesn't really take life seriously but is very sensitive and attuned to his friend's emotions and feelings.  
> 


	18. 15-Into the Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley try to rest between two attacks.  
> They have no idea that help is on its way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Here is a long one!  
> I intended to post short stories (around 1000 words-ish) for this whumptober, but apparently I don't know how to write short ones anymore, ha ha^^
> 
> Enjoy a little rest before the angst...

The bookshop’s door hadn’t opened in eight days, except to let in the person that had banged on it for ten minutes on Monday, and was, to onlookers*, pushed out after only five minutes, door slamming loudly behind.

*Those consisting of twenty-nine people, peering through windows or on their doorsteps. The neighbourhood was very protective of “that dear Mr. Fell,” and they were all ready to intervene.

But except for that occurrence, no one had seen Mr. Fell or Mr. Crowley in more than a week, and this was very strange. On Tuesdays, the Bentley always carried the two men away at one o’clock sharp and came back after a few hours. Not one of the neighbours knew where to exactly (but the staff at the Ritz did).

People were worrying a little, but if the occurrence was unusual, it wasn’t unheard of. Plus, Mr. Fell wasn’t living alone* and the Bentley was parked outside, so there was no cause for too much concern.

*Anymore. And the whole street was _so_ happy for him.

Mrs. Meschell looked at the bookshop’s front door on her way to the grocery store and shook her head. She would wait two more days, then she would make a pie and go there.

Nothing wrong with a little friendly gift, right?

* * *

Aziraphale looked up from his book and sighed in annoyance. He had read that particular page three times and couldn’t focus. This almost never happened to him. But with his Grace spread wide around the bookshop, alert to every ethereal or occult presence, following a plot, even a familiar one, was proving quite difficult.

A look at the wooden clock told him he had kept watch for twelve hours already. He reached out to the Bentley, mentally stroking her hood in thanks. The car had been a great companion all night long, watching the bookshop like a hawk, ready to roar at the slightest threat.

He closed the book with great care and put it aside regretfully. Cat would have to wait a little before going to Chrestomanci’s rescue.

A look at the couch showed him that his friend was still sleeping like a log. Poor thing was absolutely knackered. It really was a shame to wake him. To be honest, Aziraphale himself felt dreadfully tired, but he preferred to avoid sleep as much as he could.

Fighting a yawn, the angel took the stairs to the bookshop’s flat and prepared Crowley’s coffee, adding a stick of cinnamon as an afterthought before heading to the backroom.

“Crowley, my dear? It is time,” he called, touching the demon’s shoulder. Without an answer, he shook it lightly. An angry grunt was his only answer, and his hand was swept off.

“Really, Crowley, no need to get all grumpy. You _asked_ me to wake you up!”

“Shadaaaaap!” groaned the demon, burying his head under a cushion.

Aziraphale sighed and shook his head fondly. “All right, I will let you sleep some more, my dear.”

Of course, Crowley’s contrary nature couldn’t accept such an easy win, and he sat up with a muttered string of profanities.

“I’m up,” he mumbled, hand outstretched. Aziraphale pressed the mug against his fingers.

“Are you sure? I can perfectly keep watch for a few more hours.”

“Naaaah. ‘M fine. Go reshelve some books. Call taxes to point out their error of four pounds and two shillings in your favour. Classify your wax seals by emotion instead of colours. Have fun.”

These activities all being perfectly lovely to Aziraphale, he didn’t mind the sarcastic tone and smiled brightly.

“Very well, then.”

Humming happily, the angel headed back to his desk. Maybe it was irresponsible of them to take a day off. He had been opposed to it at first. But Crowley had been right: they _needed_ some rest, and could very well wait next morning before getting back to searching for a way to stop Sandalphon or whoever was after them.

* * *

Crowley took another sip of coffee, looking out the window tiredly. He didn’t feel rested at all, even after twelve hours of sleep. In fact, he felt even more drained. He couldn’t sleep very well lately, with all these attacks. He usually wasn’t prone to bad dreams, but the fire kept coming back every time he closed his eyes these last days. No wonder, after the recent events. He’d almost lost Aziraphale against the urisk, and had found him in such a fragile state only a few days later… They would have to do something about the angel’s hellish claustrophobia once all this was over.

With a heavy sigh, he headed to the kitchen to refill his mug. It was Aziraphale’s turn at chilling, and he was supposed to keep guard. Someone knew the angel needed a little time to himself after days of worry and hurt--

The sound of heavy banging on the door interrupted his thoughts.

* * *

“Are you sure they’re here, Ana?”

“The Bentley’s here,” remarked Anathema, still banging on the door to the Bookshop.

“But what if they’re out? Maybe they’re eating somewhere, or – or taking a walk,” argued Newton, swaying from side to side to soothe baby Fyre who didn’t like the sound of her mother’s fist on the wood at all.

“They’re here, I know they are.”

“Maybe they just don’t want to open. We can’t force them to see us, Ana.”

“Of course we can. What if they’re hurt?”

“Oh, yes, you’re right! If they’re under attack right now, then of course we should be here _with the baby!_ ” scoffed Newton.

“There would be no babies _anywhere_ if not for them!” answered his wife in kind, door forgotten.

“That’s not a reason to barge in here without knowing what’s happening, Ana! We can’t-”

The door opened.

“Oh dear. Are you fighting?” asked Aziraphale’s voice.

Husband and wife stopped shooting daggers at each other and turned meekly towards the door.

The angel’s was the living image of a kid waking up on Christmas day to discover that there were no presents under the tree.

“Ooooh, trouble in Paradise,” crooned Crowley, peering over the angel’s shoulder with a wide grin.

A pointed look from his friend had him remember that lover’s quarrels weren’t fun when it concerned people he cared about.

The demon cleared his throat. “Ah… yeah, sorry, reflex. Come on in.”

“I am so dreadfully sorry,” started Aziraphale, herding them to the backroom. “had I known you were in such a dire situation, we would never have cancelled Sunday tea!”

“What?” mouthed Newt to Anathema, who shrugged helplessly.

“What situation?” finally asked the witch.

Aziraphale, who was frantically digging in a cupboard for mugs, turned to her and blinked.

“Well… isn’t it why you’re here? Because you two are having relationship trouble?”

Newt and Anathema spluttered as one.

“Wh-”

“NO!”

Aziraphale sat down on a chair that hadn’t been here one second ago and folded his hands on his lap.

“Oh. Well that’s good news.”

“And _I’m_ the drama queen,” mumbled Crowley from the couch.

“We don’t have any problem,” said Newt, pacing around the room to calm Fyre, who was still not happy. “We’re just a little on edge, we didn’t sleep very well these last two weeks and our friends are apparently _being_ _hunted by holy immortal creatures_ ,” he finished with a pointed look.

“Oh, you poor dears, what is wrong? Colic?” asked the angel, reaching out and ignoring the end of the sentence entirely. Newt stopped pacing, looked at his pleading eyes and carefully handed over the baby.

Fyre stopped crying the instant she was tucked against Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Anathema and Newt both let out a sigh.

“Honestly, the only reason I don’t hate you right now is because you’re an angel and you’re using some kind of magic,” said the witch.

“Not me. I absolutely loathe him,” added Newt with a grin.

Aziraphale wasn’t even listening, whispering sweet nothings in a forgotten language to the sleeping baby.

“So what’s wrong? Why were you trying to destroy the door?” questioned Crowley, well aware that the angel would be dead to the world for a moment.*

*Babies were tricky. They always got his best friend’s undivided attention, which was usually enough to earn the demon’s ire, but they were too blessed cute to get jealous of.

“You’re not answering your phone, you haven’t been to Tadfield in two weeks and Adam was very vague about it. Why do you think we’re here?” snapped Anathema.

Crowley smiled. “Aw, you were _worried_ about us!” he purred in delight.

“Well… yes?” said Newt.

Crowley stopped smiling. Looked at Aziraphale for help.*

*To no avail.

“I really don’t know what to say, guys. I’m not very used to having people worry about me. Ah… thanks?”

“Shut up, you disaster. Tell us what’s happening,” demanded Anathema.

Crowley yawned, stretching languidly. “Weeeell… we’re kind of having a _situation_. Someone’s sending monsters after us, well, after me, mostly. You saw the first one, at my flat.”

“It was one of them?” wondered Newt, frowning. “Who is sending them?”

Crowley made a frustrating noise. “No idea. We thought about an angel, but… last week we were attacked by creatures that can only be found in Hell, and no way an angel could get _these_. So it has to be a demon. Except I’ve no idea how a demon could trap benevolent creatures to begin with. Urisk are not easy to beat, believe me.”

“An urisk? What were the others?” asked Anathema, opening her satchel to grab a notebook and pencil.

“Wait,” said Newt, looking at the demon with wide eyes. “Is this place protected? Are we in danger if something else attacks? You talked about Hellish creatures right now. Adam only talked about holy ones. He said Fyre would be fine precisely for that reason.”

Anathema shot to her feet. “Oh no. Oh, Newt, I’m so sorry, you were right, what was I thinking? We have to get Fyre out of here!”

“Nonsense,” said Aziraphale calmly, snapping his fingers to transport a crib* next to him.

*Said crib was usually in the bedroom upstairs, ready for the Pulsifers’ visits.

“Are you sure she’s all right?” pressed Newt, taking Anathema’s hand.

“My dear Newton, I assure you this child is perfectly fine. No ethereal or occult creature would dare touch her.”

“Oh. That’s… that’s good to know,” sighed Newt. “But why?”

Angel and demon exchanged a glance.

“Weeeeell”, drawled Crowley. “You know how in fairy tales the babies can receive gifts on their birth day?”

Anathema squinted her eyes. “Yeees...” she said coldly, waiting.

“It’s kinda true. Birth is a passage, and blessings on that day tend to be very strong. And, well, we were both here, the angel and I...”

“What did you do?” cut in the witch. “What kind of blessing did you give her?”

“Nothing huge! Can be tricky, these things. Imagine blessing Newt with success. He wouldn’t have stopped those computers and Armageddon would have happened. I only gave her luck.”

Anathema deflated. Luck. That couldn’t be too bad, right? She turned to the angel.

“And you?”

Aziraphale straightened his cuffs with great care, avoiding her eyes. “She will never have sunburns,” he declared.

Newt blinked several times. Anathema gaped.

Crowley remained absolutely still, looking at the ceiling contemplatively.*

*The demon was admiring his friend’s way of not exactly lying. Aziraphale had honed that particular skill to perfection. Indeed, Fyre couldn’t get sunburns. She couldn’t be burned by _anything_ . Fire, boiling water, lava, and yes, _sun_ would never hurt her.

“Well...” said Newt, who had the type of skin that tended to go from paper-white to red to peeling without ever getting the slightest tan, and appreciated Aziraphale’s gift greatly, “thank you. That’s very nice of you both. But it doesn’t explain how Fyre can be safe from Hellish creatures.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, that. Did… did Adam come to see her the day she was born?”

Anathema’s eyes widened. “What did he do?”

The demon spluttered. “Ngk. No… nothing bad. Just, kinda… put a protection on her. Ha, more of a warning. A _do not touch_ sign. Nothing demonic would ever touch her with a ten foot pole.”

“You touch her, though. You held her the other day,” reminded Newt.*

*It had been the most excruciating minute of Crowley’s entire existence. Human babies were so tiny and fragile, why would anyone ask him to hold one?

“Crowley bears her no ill will. He isn’t affected by the spell,” explained Aziraphale. “You two may not be safe, though,” added the angel worriedly. “You could get hurt by staying here.”

Both humans waved the concern away.

“If Fyre is fine, then that’s no problem,” assured Anathema, opening her notebook anew. “So, what were the other creatures?”

“I’ll fetch the suitcase” decided Newt, heading out.

“Wait. Suitcase? Are you staying?” wondered Crowley, getting on his feet and following him with another yawn.

“If we can help you find whoever is trying to kill you, yes. Ana’s got all her ingredients in there,” explained Newt, opening his car’s trunk.

He looked at the demon. “You look tired.”

Crowley shrugged. “Not sleeping very much lately.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” assured the young man, slamming the trunk shut.

The demon smirked. “Admit it, you only came so Aziraphale would put the kid to sleep.”

Newt winked before entering the bookshop. “Crowley, had I wanted to stop listening to baby whines, I wouldn’t have come to see you.”

“Oi!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next one is almost finished and is quite angsty^^  
> It's one of my favourite themes so far, and I'm so happy to be finally there!!  
> You'll have it in a few hours. My muse is here today with me. :)


	19. 23-What's a Whumpee Gotta Do to Get some Sleep Around Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is sleeping. Nothing unusual in that.  
> Except this kind of sleep isn't normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...  
> You can laugh. I know you want to.  
> I will too, in a minute, I'm sure. Right now I just feel stupid!!  
> I can't believe I posted this chapter in LAST YEAR's Whumptober!  
> Where is the facepalm emoji?
> 
> Okay I'm laughing now^^

“Crowley?”

The demon stirred, and shuffled to hide his head against a cushion.

“Crowley?” asked the voice again. For Someone’s sake, couldn’t that blessed angel just leave him alone? Sleeping was sacred!

He tried to say exactly that, but it all got out in a loud and angry groan.

“Wake up, Crowley.”

Oh and now there was a hand shaking him. This was pure torture!

“I thought we were bloody friends!” he yelled in anger, surging from the bundle of blankets, fangs bared.

Or at least, trying to. He only succeeded in another loud groan, and a twitch of his hands.

_Strange._

The demon mumbled something unintelligible as the grip on his shoulder weakened.

“You have… you have to wake up” murmured Aziraphale feebly. “Something is wrong with you… please… wake up.”

Something heavy settled on the demon’s chest. Crowley didn’t like to feel trapped, but the weight wasn’t unwelcome. It was _warm_ , for a start.

 _Angelic heater!_ Yelled his inner snake-brain in delight.

The talking and shaking had stopped, and that was…

That wasn’t normal. Angel sleeping on him. Not normal.

Crowley _tried_ to open his eyes, but he was feeling so good. Perfect couch under him, warm Grace covering him like an ethereal blanket…

Crowley got back to sleep with a sigh.

* * *

Not very far away, Adam Young dropped his pen and frowned. An uneasy sensation was creeping along his spine. Something felt _wrong_.

“Adam?” asked his teacher. “Are you feeling all right?”

Miss Kay was the Them favourite teacher, and Adam hated to have to lie to her.

“I think I’m sick, Miss Kay,” he said in his weakest voice. Pepper turned in her chair, eyebrows shooting to her hairline. Wensleydale looked at him in concern. Next to him, Brian raised his hand.

“I think Adam’s got the flu, Miss Kay! My brother got it last week, he was looking like this too.”

Miss Kay approached and touched Adam’s forehead. “Oh, dear. You’re burning! Wensley, can you get him to the nurse?”

“Yes, Miss.”

As soon as he was out of class, Adam clucked his tongue, and a shadow hopped over the school’s gates and hurried into the corridors before stopping at the Antichrist’s feet.

“Good dog,” praised Wensley, patting his head before turning to his friend. “What’s wrong, Adam? Are you okay?”

The boy shook his head. “I think uncle Crowley and uncle Aziraphale are in trouble.”

“Do you think they need your help?” wondered Wensley. Crowley and Aziraphale were, in the boy’s opinion, stronger than anyone. That they should need help was both strange and unsettling.

Adam’s face did something it hadn’t done since Armageddon. He looked scared. Wensley didn’t like that one bit.

“Yes, I think they need help. But I don’t know if I can do anything about it. Let’s go to the nurse and let her call my parents. I will call Anathema when I’m home.”

Wensley nodded. “We will come to your house after school.”

  
  


* * *

Newton pushed the door’s handle with his elbow and entered, arms full of baby and groceries. “I’ve got breakfast!” he called out loud.

No one answering, he headed for the stairs and slammed his burden (baby excepted) on the kitchen’s table.

“I’m back!”

“Oh, hi love,” answered Anathema from the living room. Newt took a few steps and found her sitting on the floor, hidden behind a giant fern, buried in a stack of witchcraft books.

The vision of his wife sitting cross-legged, surrounded by books, ingredients, parts of her theodolite and her iphone on google map was so familiar to him that he didn’t even blink.

“Hey. Where are the others?”

The young witch looked up absent-mindedly. “Hm. What?”

“Aziraphale and Crowley. Where are they?”

“In the backroom, they’re searching in Aziraphale’s books about Hell. I’m not allowed to touch them. Apparently it could be dangerous to humans to look at them,” she added with a pout.

“I called, they didn’t answer.”

“They must be focused. You know how they can get.”

Newt took great pain _not_ to answer that. If there was someone in this building that had the tendency to be too focused on a book to hear a call it was…

Well, it was probably Aziraphale. But Anathema was close second.

“I’ll make breakfast, can you watch after Fyre?” he asked, kissing his wife’s hair and settling the baby near her before getting back to the kitchen.

On the floor, the phone rang. He could hear Anathema answering and talking for a minute.

“Newt?”

He turned, looked at her face, and turned the induction cooker off.

“What is wrong?”

“I think we need to get down,” answered Anathema grimly.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Do you see them?” murmured Adam from the corridor, checking on his mother. She was still in the kitchen, humming under her breath as she fixed the cupboard’s door (the one whose hinges always tend to give out every two months).

“Yes,” answered Anathema. “They’re sleeping.”

Adam bit his lip and headed back to his bedroom, closing the door carefully. “It’s not a natural sleep,” he said.

“Yeah, I gathered as much,” only said Anathema*. “What should I do?”

*Finding Aziraphale kneeling on the floor, his head on Crowley’s chest and a hand loosely gripping the demon’s shoulder as if to shake it had been a pretty good clue.

“Do not touch them.”

“You told me that already. What is happening to them? Aziraphale _never_ sleeps!”

“I think it’s another creature,” explained Adam. “It attacked Crowley, and it took uncle Aziraphale too when he touched him.”

“What creature?”

“I don’t know! I can’t reach them, Anathema, they’re not on Earth. Well, not entirely. Dreams are difficult to enter.”

“Fuck!” cursed Anathema under her breath, making the boy gape in shock.*

*This, thought Adam, was not a polite word, and she was lucky Aziraphale couldn’t hear her.

“Could you help them if you were here?” asked the witch.

“I would be caught too the instant I’d touch them,” sighed the Antichrist. “Whatever this thing is, I can’t control it. It’s not demonic, and it’s not from Earth either. Uncle Z told me other persons’ dreams were tricky to navigate, and that thing is _living_ in it.”

“What can we do, then?” wondered Anathema.

“I don’t know,” reckoned Adam, feeling both angry and miserable. His uncles had vaguely talked about dreams during one of his lessons, only declaring that entering someone’s psyche was dangerous, and that he needed to learn more about control and precision before trying it.

He had no idea if the “dangerous” part applied to the sleeping person or himself. Putting himself in harm’s way to save his uncles was okay with him, but risking their lives?

“All I know is that you shouldn’t touch them. Sorry,” he murmured.

“It’s okay, Adam. Thanks for warning us. We will find a solution,” said the witch in that reassuring voice every child in the world knew.*

*The “I have no idea what to do right now, but I will pretend I do not to scare you” voice. Adam wasn’t a big fan of it.

“Call me, okay?” he begged.

“I’ll keep you updated, I promise.”

The boy nodded. That was good enough for him. Anathema was an adult, and used the blasted _voice_ , but she was his friend and always kept her promises.

“Thanks. Good luck,” whispered Adam before hanging up.

His mother opened his door a second later to find him lying in bed with a book.

“Did you call me, sweetie?”

“No, I was talking to Dog.”

“How are you feeling?” she asked in concern, sitting on the edge of the bed to touch his forehead.

“Not very good,” he admitted, hugging her and burying his face in her shoulder.

Deirdre hid her surprise, hugging him back. Adam was usually not that demonstrative.

“Don’t worry, you will be fine very soon,” she promised, running a hand through his curls. “Everything is going to be okay.”

Adam sighed in relief. He knew his mother had no idea as to what was really happening, but if she said it, then it had to be true.

Everything would be fine.

His mum was _always_ right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooo...  
> Hum.  
> ANYWAY! 
> 
> Next chapter will mostly happen in our dear boy's nightma-- //clears her throat// I mean, dreams, and believe you me, it will be great^^  
> For me. Not for them. You know how much I love to write angst :)  
> Already half written, so it will be out soon, hopefully^^


	20. 19-Broken Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale are having VERY bad dreams.  
> Meanwhile, Anathema and Newt are searching for a way to save their friends.  
> Someone is about to come to the rescue. Someone nobody is expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooo.  
> This story is getting out of hands^^  
> Not that I don't know where it's going. I do. But I kind of... got a little too excited? It's getting too long for only two prompts.  
> Honnestly, I think that including this one, it will take three prompts to get the boys out of that one.  
> The good thing is, next part is almost finished, and I know what I intend to put in the last one.
> 
> Today's theme was (of course) Broken Hearts, with the prompts "Grief/Mourning Loved Ones".

Crowley was frozen on the spot, mind howling in despair.

This was the end, that much was obvious. Too many angels, all in arms, all burning with wrathful Grace, surrounding him.

How the fuck did he end up here, in Heaven of all places?

Never mind how, he was so dead. Someone had transported him here, right into the arms of his worst enemies, and he didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye.

 _Aziraphale will go_ mental _._

“Listen to me, everyone,” shot a steely voice.

Crowley’s eyes widened and he turned around.

“Aziraphale?” he gasped.

This was the angel. All clad in white robes, with--

“Is that a fucking sword? What are you doing with a sword, angel?”

Aziraphale didn’t look at him, eyes going through him as he took in the angels gathered around him.

“You all, stay here. I want ten of you to patrol around the perimeter. The others will split into five groups and stand guard at each Healing tent.”

One of the angels took a step forward. “We cannot stay here! We have to go to the battlefield, and fight the Fallen!” he objected, eyes blazing.

 _Fallen_? Thought Crowley, blinking slowly.

Aziraphale stomped towards the angel, who stepped back. “ _Everyone_ is already on the battlefield! A re you so eager to _destroy_ that you forgot your purpose? We are here to _protect_! You will all keep the healers safe and make sure no one tries to hurt them.”

“Why would anyone try to hurt healers?” objected another angel. “This wouldn’t be right.”

Aziraphale’s eyes flashed. “You all heard the order. Destroy every rebellious angel before they Fall. Half of the Host is hunted by the other half as we talk. Do you really think they see it as _right_? Getting rid of the healers would be a good way for them to win this battle.”

“But--” started the first angel. “Nobody ordered us to stay here. And Gabriel--”

“I am. I do. You will all stay here and do as I say. I am your leader, not Gabriel. You will wait here and follow my orders. Don’t draw blood, unless it is to save a life, yours included.”

Aziraphale looked around one more time and nodded to another angel. “Liniel, you are in charge. I will check on what is happening.”

He waited for the other to nod, and headed away. Crowley followed, head spinning.

“Aziraphale,” he called again, not really expecting an answer. None came.

He reached out to touch the other’s arm, and watched as his hand traversed his friend like he was an illusion.

He wasn’t, though. He could feel it in his bones. This was really Aziraphale in front of him, only he couldn’t reach him.

And they were in Heaven, the day of the Fall.

A memory then. Why would Aziraphale want to relive _this_? Crowley was well placed to know it was one of the angel’s worst memories--

A voice resounded at the back of his mind. A memory of his own, a conversation from a long time ago.

“ _Apparently, what this scroll says is that the creature pushes humans to sleep, then_ _makes_ _them live their worst nightmares, and feeds on their despair until-- well, until there isn’t anything left of them.”_

“ _Urgh. That’s devious, angel, even for a demon.”_

“ _I do not think it is demonic, exactly. Anyway, it is trapped. I am not certain there is a way to destroy it, but as long as it stays in this device, everyone should be safe.”_

“ _Who was the clever bugger who caught it?”_

“ _I do not know. It seems to have been a long time ago. I will seal this cave again, and no one should find it.”_

  
  


Of freaking bloody course.

That’s what was happening. His angel was trapped in his own dream.

“ _U_ _ntil_ _t_ _here isn’t anything left of them.”_

No, nope, out of the question. No way he would let Aziraphale despair to death.

First, he was there too, and that had to count. Even if he hadn’t the slightest idea as to _why_ he was there.

“Hey, angel! Aziraphale? You hear me?”

His friend continued to walk towards the battlefield, and Crowley gritted his teeth. How was he supposed to _save_ him if the angel couldn’t hear his voice?

They were near the action now, cries starting to reach them, the clashing of weapons, the wails of despair. Someone on their right was praying Her, begging Her to forgive. Their voice was brutally cut out, and Crowley carefully didn’t look.

Aziraphale stopped and kneeled near an angel on the floor, touching his hand. Crowley sensed the healing miracle. Then they started to walk again, and the demon felt his chest constrict.

He knew what was to come. Knew it as clear as day. In a few minutes, they would reach the precise point where Crowley had stopped being an angel and dived straight into boiling sulphur.

Again, the angel stopped to heal someone, a future demon this time, judging by his blackened wings. Crowley looked up, knowing he would see himself, kneeling on the ground, about to plunge--

There was no one.

This wasn’t right. He should be there, on this little slope, a hundred yards away. He knew he was there, watching an angel healing demons, watching him disobey out of compassion, and hating him for it.

Maybe Aziraphale hadn’t noticed him at all that day, and so couldn’t remember him?

Ridiculous. He knew the angel hadn’t _looked_ at him, focused on the dead and wounded near him, but he had _seen_ him. Crowley should be in his subconscious. Angelic memory was absolute, and they didn’t forget like humans.

There had been a body next to Crowley. A Fallen like him, face down on the ground. He’d focused on her hand as his wings had started to burn, as the ground had crumbled under him.

He could see her from here. In the exact same position he remembered.

Everything was like in his memories. Every body, every cry, every drop of ichor on the ground. Everything except himself. He should be here. But he wasn’t.

He slowly turned to Aziraphale, took in his steady hand, reaching down to heal someone else, and the heartbreak in his friend’s eyes was so overwhelming Crowley had to fight back tears.

This was not a good day to dream of, for either of them.

“Angel. Let’s get out of here. Wake up, don’t stay here.”

Aziraphale didn’t hear him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Aziraphale!”

The angel turned around wildly. This was Crowley’s voice, and it was full of panic and anguish.

“Crowley?”

“Aziraphale, where are you?”

The bookshop. It was coming from the bookshop. In an instant, he was there, and gasped as the sound of the fire hit him.

His books. _Burning_ , all of them. Somewhere, deep down, he vaguely registered his heart breaking at the sight. But he couldn’t process this now, he needed to find-

“Where are you, you idiot?” yelled Crowley’s voice near him.

“Here! I’m here!” he called, running towards the entry.

A deep relief invaded him at the sight of his friend, safe and sound, looking around wildly.

“I can’t find you!”

Aziraphale frowned, and reached out to touch Crowley’s shoulder. “I am here, dear boy. Let us get out, we can’t save it now.”

His hand got right through the demon.

“For SOMEBODY’S sake, where ARE you?” yelled Crowley.

The angel looked at his hand. Looked around.

Water hit Crowley and traversed Aziraphale, who took a step back in instinct. Crowley had fallen and was struggling to sit down, looking around, golden eyes wild and full of unspeakable sorrow.

“Somebody killed my best friend!” he sobbed, and Aziraphale closed his eyes under the weight of his friend’s grief, before gasping under a wave of pure hate as Crowley roared. “BASTARDS! ALL OF YOU!”

“Oh, Crowley...” whispered the angel, kneeling near him, trying and failing to touch him again. “I am _alive_ , listen to me...”

Was he, though? Was he dead? It would explain everything. Crowley would see him if he was only discorporated.

_No. It can’t be. I can’t be dead. Angels can’t become ghosts._

The demon grabbed something on the floor and scrambled back to his feet. Aziraphale’s eyes widened.

The Nice and Accurate Prophecies.

This was… this was _not_ reality, realised the angel. This was the past, it was Crowley’s memories.

But he could sense the demon’s loss, his despair, his rage. This was not a simple memory. Crowley was really _there_ , that much was obvious. And he couldn’t see him.

Trapped in his own mind…

Lost in one of his worst moments.

 _Oh_ , thought Aziraphale, understanding brutally dawning.

_Oh no._

It was a nightmare. Of course it was. Vaguely, he remembered himself trying to shake the demon awake. Images flashed in his mind, Crowley being dragged away by a sea creature, Anathema looking at her phone, her eyebrows knitted together, the Bentley, her wind-shield smashed to bits…

He tried to grab at the fragments of each vision, only to have them disappear one by one, like dreams dissolving after waking up.

Naturally. If they were both in a nightmare, then he couldn’t very well remember reality. At least, not how they had gotten here. He remembered the past, Armageddon, and the months following it. But he had no idea of the day, or even the month it was. Or how they had ended here, lost in Crowley’s dreams.

The _why_ , though, was simpler to pinpoint. Only one type of creature could trap someone into their own mind while they slept. And there was only one outcome to this.

He jumped back on his feet, following his friend out of the burning bookshop.

“Crowley! You have to wake up! Wake up! You’re not safe!”

The demon entered the Bentley without a look back.

 _Oh no you won’t,_ thought Aziraphale, gr it ting his teeth as he stepped through the Bentley’s door and sat on the passenger’s seat , _you’re not going anywhere without me_.

* * *

Newt was rummaging through Aziraphale’s desk while Anathema launched furious research on the internet.

There had to be a clue, somewhere. Someone had to have written about this dream creature.

Newt opened another drawer, hoping to find the angel’s notebook. He had been doing research about potential attacks these last two weeks, and the (retired) witch finder hadn’t found the familiar black journal so far.

“Where did you hide it, Aziraphale?” he mumbled under his breath, opening the last drawer.

That one, strangely, was almost empty, devoid of all the clutter Newt had found in the others. In it was only one object, a yellow envelope, sealed with green wax. He reached out and picked it up, looking at the front.

“Ana?”

The witch looked up from her computer, alerted by his tone.

He showed her the envelope. On it, in Aziraphale’s neat handwriting, was one word.

 _Anathema_.

“Where was it?” she murmured, pushing her chair back to join him.

He pointed to the last drawer, as his wife carefully examined the object. As a Device, she had been raised to look out for every little detail.

“What does the green mean?” she mumbled.

“Hopeful love,” answered Newt mechanically. She looked up in surprise. He shrugged defensively, blushing a little.

“You know I love secret codes.”

Had the situation been a little less dire, Anathema would have snogged him here and there for being far too cute.

“Hopeful love...” she repeated. “Romantic love, I guess?”

“Yup.”

She turned to look at the angel’s desk. Aziraphale had an awfully large collection of sealing wax, but she couldn’t find that exact colour… Turning back to the letter, she squinted at the seal. “He didn’t use just one. I think he mixed that green with the grey one.”

“Grey means friendship,” provided Newt, helpfully.

“Friendship and hopeful, romantic love...” wondered Anathema, before turning to Newt with a small smile. “The meaning is _hope_ , then. I think Aziraphale added the grey to point that it wasn’t about romance.”

“Well I hope so,” grumbled Newt. “Sunday tea would become embarrassing if Aziraphale was trying to woo you.”

She elbowed him, biting back a smile. “Shut up, stupid, I’m in love with _you_. I wouldn’t fall for Aziraphale.”

“He is immortal, and adorable, and caring, AND he knows how to put Fyre to sleep,” enumerated Newt, searching for the angel’s letter opener on the desk.

Anathema raised an eyebrow. “Looks like _you_ would fall for him.”

Her husband flashed her a smile and handed her the object. “I would certainly take the time to consider my options,” he teased.

The witch only shook her head with a pout, opening the envelope. “So, let’s see what hope is hidden in there.”

“Do you think he wrote that letter today? In case something happened?”

“I hope so. If it’s a will, it would be kind of weird.”

She unfolded the letter and read it, Newt looking over her shoulder.

Her first feeling was disappointment. The date was months ago, in fact it was dated three days after Fyre’s birth. Not a message about the monsters, then. The rest of the letter consisted only in one sentence.

_Look behind the bookshelf near the television._

Then the number _4004._

  
  


A few minutes later, They both opened the little safe hidden behind the bookshelf, and Anathema gaped.

“That little piece of shit!” she swore.

“Ana!”

“I can’t believe he hid it from me!” continued the witch, retrieving the manuscript in the safe.

She knew it very well. She’d seen its twin and burned it without reading it.

“Ye saga continuef,” whispered Newt, reading the title.

They exchanged a look.

“I guess we don’t have a choice, then,” said Anathema, taking in a deep breath and turning the first page.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next theme will be "Toto, I have a Feeling We're Not in Kansas Anymore"  
> I won't promise to post it tomorrow because I can't keep a deadline if my life depended on it, so if I DON'T say it, maybe I WILL be able to do it^^


	21. 20-Toto, I have a Feeling we're Not in Kansas Anymore.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema and Newt are getting help from a (very) late ancestor, and decide to enlist a certain Antichrist.  
> Will they be fast enough, though?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said this morning that I wouldn't promise a post tomorrow, and I did well, ha ha!  
> AHEAD of schedule. I'm so damn proud of myself, everyone!  
> Here is some more angst and whump, you're very welcome^^  
> Nah, sorry bout it. Comfort is on its way, I promise!
> 
> Today's prompt is "Lost", and I appologise again for what I'm doing to my poor boys. It will get better soon.

The first page of the manuscript only contained two sentences.

_None of your eyes may read furfer before my blood, Principality._

Well, that explained why Aziraphale had put the book away and prepared the envelope, thought Anathema. Her eyes fell on the second sentence.

_Anathema,_ _o_ _nly_ _once_ _will you need a glance, when need is dire._

She looked up at Newt, and he shrugged. "I _think_ she’s telling you to open it and only read one prophecy.”

Anathema slowly nodded, relief coursing through her. She wouldn't have to go back to her former life after all. Agnes was respecting her choice.

“Seems like it. All right.” She closed her eyes and opened the manuscript at random, looking down at two short sentences, alone in the middle of the page.

_In the land befides the seas lays the dream-eater. Only_ _she_ _can save Light and Shadows from defpair._

“Dream eater?” wondered Newt, as his wife rushed over to her computer, talking under her breath.

“Besides the seas… plural. Not Europe, not America. Dream eater… Dream eater. I don’t want a bloody Pokemon! Oh, that one. Japanese, that seems right.”

“A Japanese dream eater? Is that a person or a monster?” asked Newt, checking on Fyre, who was still blessedly asleep.

“A mythological creature, apparently. But I’m pretty sure it’s the one Agnes is talking about.” She looked up, worry etched on every line of her face. “How can we catch one? We don’t have time to go to Japan!”

Newt headed to the stairs. “I’m calling Adam.”

“I’ll search for a way to capture a dream-eater,” shouted Anathema after him, getting back to her keyboard.

* * *

Aziraphale considered the demon facing him with growing worry. He was pretty sure Crowley was way more drunk than he was supposed to be.

He hadn’t been that incoherent when the angel had appeared in front of him.

Well… Aziraphale supposed it was in this place that he had appeared after his discorporation and his choice to come back to Earth. He hadn’t been able to see his surroundings, but it seemed to be around this time, if Crowley’s fancy watch was anything to go by.

Time was ticking. Armageddon was approaching. And Aziraphale, the _other_ Aziraphale, wasn’t there.

Why wasn’t he there?

“I fucking lost him,” mumbled the demon, head resting on the table. “He called for help, and I didn’t help, and now it’s too late.”

“Oh, dear boy, please stop thinking that. I am right here!”

Where _was_ he? Why was he taking so long? Crowley needed to know he was still alive, he needed it to get out of this miserable state-

The angel suddenly closed his eyes, cursing himself. There would be no discorporated version of himself. This was the _point_. To make Crowley as wretched as possible, to eat his despair and his sorrow until the demon gave up entirely and disappeared.

“So that’s what you want to play at, then?” he declared, glaring at the empty pub around them. “Well you won’t _have_ him. If you think for one second that I will let you touch him, you are about to have a _very_ unpleasant surprise.”

There had to be a way to reach Crowley. To tell him he was still there. He could touch the seats of the Bentley, the floor, and he was now sitting on a stool after all. If he could interact with _some_ objects, then there must be a way to-

His eyes landed on the book near his friend.

Objects. He could touch objects. Slowly, he reached out, and heaved a frustrated breath as his hand traversed the old tome.

“Damn it!” he snapped, before trying again. The book shivered slightly.

Yes. Another try, and it slid a little on the leather of the booth. After his fifth attempt, Aziraphale huffed in frustration as the book fell open to the ground.

Crowley raised his head, blinking dazedly, and looked down.

“Aziraphale,” he breathed, and for one glorious second, the angel felt an overwhelming relief invade him.

Then the demon reached out, grabbed the book on the second try, and looked at the pages in front of him.

“’At’s the angel’s writing,” he slurred.

And yes, it was. Aziraphale had scribbled a lot of little notes that he had scattered amongst the pages. This one was the most important.

“The name of the Beast. Adam Young, 4 Hodgeback lane, Tadfield.”

Crowley blinked slowly. Then straightened up with a painful groan as the bottles on the table replenished.

“He found him. Aziraphale found the Antichrist.”

“This isn’t important, Crowley! We stopped it already, let it go! This isn’t real! Listen to me!” thundered Aziraphale.

Crowley continued to look at the scrap of paper forlornly.

“I have to go there. Stop the boy. Got to stop it all, that’s what he wanted.”

“What I want is for you to **LISTEN TO ME!** ” yelled Aziraphale with all the force of his angelic voice.

Crowley didn’t even twitch, carefully closing the book and getting up, walking right through his friend with cold intent as he headed for the door.

“Fuck!” cursed Aziraphale, heading after him angrily. “Crowley! Crow-”

* * *

“-ley!”

Crowley’s head snapped to the side, eyes widening as he faced his friend.

“Angel? You can see me?” he asked hurriedly.

Aziraphale blinked, looking around him owlishly, not stopping one second on the demon facing him. Then, without another word, he started to walk.

“Shit!” cursed Crowley. He was sure the angel had called his name right now. He missed his shot. Missed his fucking shot!

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

But the brutal change in surroundings had unsettled him for a second, and he had looked away just at the wrong time.

They had been elsewhere before. A brief flash of a bottle of whiskey on a wooden table crossed his mind like a comet before fading into oblivion.

Heaven. They had been in Heaven, during the Fall. And now they were...

He looked around, and only then noticed the smoke and the distant screaming. The harbour was burning, soldiers were running everywhere, most of them attacking without taking the time to check whose side were their victims on. Humanity at its worst. Again.

“I fucking HATE fire!” he yelled, starting to run to catch up with his friend’s hurried strides.

 _Alexandria_. Of course it was. They were really going to stop at Aziraphale’s most painful memories then.

The angel spread out his wings, unfolding his ethereal body just enough for the humans to see what he was. He radiated light, and a sense of safety and hope that could be sensed in every house on the street.

Slowly, doors started to open, people to go out, hurrying towards him.

“FOLLOW ME”, said Aziraphale in his angelic voice, using a miracle to shield everyone from the soldier’s eyes.

Crowley’s eyes blazed as he realised his friend was truly using his Grace, burning it to protect people that only existed in his imagination.

“Angel! Aziraphale! It’s not real! You have to hear me, it’s all in your head!”

a boy and a girl ran through him, holding hands firmly.

“Where is mum?” cried the boy, and his sister tugged him away, chasing after Aziraphale. “We will find her outside!”

Crowley had a perfect memory. He was after all, angel stock. And he knew these faces.

“No you won’t,” he sighed, already knowing what was to come. He had to break the spell, one way or another, and soon. Aziraphale was a stubborn bastard, and he was certain that nightmare creature, whatever its name, would soon realise it had bitten off more than it could chew with the angel.

But he would suffer before that. And Crowley was not okay with letting him relive his worst moments.

He caught up on his friend, still leading his little group towards the city’s gates, and started to walk backwards in front of him.

“You can’t save them, angel! They don’t even exist! I know you can hear me, Aziraphale! Stop it, stupid! **Stop**!”

The library was in sight now. They could see the flames dance through the windows. Someone rushed out, hands full of precious parchments, dropped them on the floor and turned towards the door again.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the man joined the little group with a blank face.

 _I’ll be here in a moment_ , remembered the demon. _I’ll get in, and search for him, and I’ll save_ _Sappho's_ _scrolls before heading out to find him._

He felt something shift, his surroundings changing. This time Crowley didn’t feel unsettled. It was still Alexandria. Another place, but the same night.

He heard a sob behind him, and turned, already knowing where to look. And here was Aziraphale, white wings tucked away this time, kneeling on the pavement, hands hovering helplessly over the two small bodies.

“Oh, angel...”

“Why?” choked Aziraphale. “Why did they come back?”

He looked up at the sky, stars nowhere to be seen with all the smoke obscuring them.

“I saved them. I _saved_ them! Why did you let them come back?”

Crowley hissed, furious to feel so useless. _Don’t ask, angel. Don’t talk to Her like that! This won’t end good, shut up!_

This was a dream, it couldn’t count. She wasn’t taking a dream seriously, right?

“You better not”, he growled to the sky before looking around, searching for someone he knew was about to come.

“Why are you letting all this happen?” wondered the angel, too lost in his misery and his doubt.

This had been one of the handful of times Crowley had attacked his friend. He remembered it very well, hearing those dangerous words as he came closer, and the furious dread that had overcame him, making him tackle Aziraphale to the floor and bang his head on the stones, yelling at him to “ **Ssssshut the fuck up!** ”

He’d dragged him away, and the angel had followed without a fight, too broken to resist. It had taken days to bring him back, to have him talk and think and get all of his faith back again.

Alexandria had been a close one. He’d been just in time. Just in time.

Looking around again, Crowley realised no one was going to come. He wasn’t there.

A terrifying understanding slowly crept over him. That thing was feeding on despair. How long would Aziraphale hold on in a world where he was entirely, absolutely _alone_?

A world where they never met, never talked, never supported each other? Where Heaven looked at him with contempt and God never answered? Where the angel had no side to turn to?

Maybe the monster had bitten off just enough after all.

* * *

Adam appeared silently, in the shadows of a large tree. At his side, Dog’s eyes glowed red.

The boy walked to the edge of the cliff, his gaze landing on each small house of the little village in the valley below. This was very different from Tadfield, he decided. Houses looked way more interesting, for a start, with their black pointy roofs and large windows, so unlike what he was used to.

But inside, the people were the same. Hopes and fears, happiness and sorrow, humans, exactly like home. He grimaced as he brushed against the sleeping minds. It felt wrong, to use his powers to check on people’s thoughts. But he wasn’t peeking, and it was a life or death situation.

No child dreaming a bad dream here. At least, judged Adam, not bad enough. He needed something dreadful, something that would be enough to have a chance to lure in one of those dream-eaters Newt and Anathema had talked about.

Baku, he remembered. Weird name.

He clenched his fists, the little pouch in his right hand crushing slightly.

“Let’s search somewhere else, Dog,” he murmured.

It had to be near a forest. According to the witch, these things didn’t like cities, and loved trees.

In a blink, Antichrist and Hellhound disappeared.

It took three more places before Adam found what he was looking for. This time he could feel some intense fear coming from one of the houses.

A girl, a few years younger than him, lost in a nightmare, head rolling slightly from side to side as if to escape.

Carefully, Adam stepped in the room, hiding his presence to all eyes.

 _Come on_ , he thought intently. _Come on, come on, there’s a dream to eat. One of you_ has _to be hungry!_

Dog pressed his head against his shin in support.

And he saw it. The shadows moving, splitting, giving way to something intangible.

Adam’s hand squeezed the pouch lightly. He had to throw it at the creature to trap it, Anathema had instructed.

But the little girl was _very_ frightened, and it was rude to interrupt someone during their meal after all.

He could at least wait until the baku was finished.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was a little upset yesterday as I realised this particular monster would take a lot of words and prompts to get rid of. Not that I don't like it, I LOVE it, but it's kind of a multichapter story, but hey, what do you want? It's in my whumptober ficlets, what can I do about it?
> 
> Then my dear, perfect Meg told me today that this looked like a multichapter story and I should post it as a standalone, and I realised... She told me the SAME last year with Hastur's love story, and she was so right!
> 
> So I'll continue the story here, of course, but I will also post it as its own story later. Probably with some additions, like Hastur's story. I'll keep you updated^^
> 
> Next prompt will be "I Don't Feel so Well" which is... understandable. My poor boys. But it will end in comfort! It may be a longish one.


	22. 21-I don't Feel so well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to wake up the sna- I mean the boys!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okayyy soooooooooo...  
> BEFORE you start reading, I wanted to say I mayyy have been a little tiny bit carried away. Again.  
> So, yes, there will be another chapter.
> 
> I can hear you all gasping dramatically, Aziraphale-in-the-church style^^  
> But hey, long chapter today. As a treat!  
> (I can't believe I wrote a chapter twice as long as usual and STILL didn't manage to end that story, ha ha!!

“Newt?” called Anathema, jumping to her feet, holding her laptop. “I found something!”

Her husband, sitting on Aziraphale’s armchair, chin propped up on his folded hands while he watched their sleeping friends, looked up.

“What?”

“The creature, the thing that is making them sleep. I think I found something about it. Almost everything checks out.”

Newt approached to look over her shoulder. “What did you find?”

“It’s a legend talking about an ancient creature that killed lots of people a long time ago. The queen of the land asked all of the priests to gather and find a way to defeat it. They tried to destroy it without success, so they ended up trapping it in an object instead. Look at how accurate it is! It’s preying on a target, wearing them out for days. Remember how tired Crowley was? And when the prey is exhausted enough to enter a very deep sleep, it enters their dreams-- and, well, that’s when it gets a little different from our situation.”

“How different?” wondered Newt, looking back at the sleeping demon and angel.

“Weeeell… it’s supposed to kill its victim. Feed them their deepest fears until they lose the will to live. But no one ever survived long after the monster got them to sleep. They all died ‘In no longer a time than between the last call of the sparrow and the first call of the owl’,” she quoted.

Newton gulped. “How… how much time is that?”

His wife’s dark expression was enough of an answer.

Newt tilted his head, taking in a deep breath. “It’s been almost _ten_ hours, and they’re still very much alive. Maybe it’s because they’re not human?”

The witch shrugged. “I guess so… but what’s very strange is the descriptions here. First, they fall into a deep sleep from which they cannot be roused, we got that checked. Then they become paler and paler, their breath shallower, and… they die.”

“Crowley was very pale when we found them,” remembered Newt. “Almost grey. We were worried, then he got better.”

Anathema nodded firmly. “Yes, then Aziraphale started to get it. They are both having the symptoms, only it-- stops, before they die.”

“And it’s never both at the same time!” exclaimed Newt excitedly. “Maybe that’s it! Maybe the creature is trying to kill them in turn, and every time it changes target, the first one gets better?”

“I can’t help thinking there’s more to it. Their auras are acting weird too. But I’m sure Adam will be here soon, and maybe he’ll be able to tell us more.”

As if on cue, the young Antichrist appeared behind them, Dog at his heel.

“I got it!” he shouted proudly, startling the adults*.

*Which had been his goal all along.

“Are you all right?” asked Newt, who had been a little worried at sending a twelve year old, even an all-powerful one, on a hunt alone to the other end of the world. At night.

The boy shrugged. “Course I’m all right. I’m not a child anymore.”

His eyes fell on his two uncles and his smug smile vanished, replaced by a concerned grimace. “How are they?”

“Still the same. We think the creature is trying to attack them both, but can’t do it at the same time.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” drawled Adam, stepping closer to the couch but careful not to touch any of them. “I think it has no idea what to do. It’s the first time it has two people to hurt at the same time.”

“Why?” wondered Anathema. “You said it would attack us if we touched them. The people it ki-- attacked before, they had families. They tried to wake them up, they touched them!”

“Ah. I didn’t know that,” reckoned Adam, nodding thoughtfully. “It kinda makes sense. I guess it’s okay to touch them then.”

Anathema looked pointedly at the sleeping angel. “I don’t think so,” said Newt very slowly.

The boy shrugged. “I only sensed what was happening to uncle Aziraphale. He tried to shake Crowley, then fell asleep, that’s why I thought it was dangerous for us too. But I think uncle Z tried to reach uncle Crowley’s spirit. So he entered his dream, and got stuck too. And now the monster has two people to eat and doesn’t know how to do it, ‘cause it never happened before.”

“But would Aziraphale stay in Crowley’s dreams now that he’s not conscious?” wondered the witch. “You told me it was very difficult to enter someone else’s spirit. And dangerous.”

“Not for them. They know each other too well. I guess their minds are trying to stay together because they know something is attacking them.”

Newt hummed. “And the monster is fighting them both, but has to do it with their personal nightmares, so it can only attack one of them at a time, while the other gets better.”

Adam shook his head. “No, that’s not that. At least I don’t think so? I think that’s because that thing can’t split to despair them both. So it’s taking turns, but it just doesn’t work. Every time it makes one of them despair enough to lose his fight, it tries to do the same with the other. But the first one is still here, they’re _sharing_ their dreams. And then all the hard work is lost and the despair disappears.”

“But _why_? Why does the despair disappear from one when the monster attacks another? I don’t understand.”

Adam scratched his chin thoughtfully, wondering how to explain something so simple and so complicated at the same time.

“Every time uncle Crowley is starting to be too sad, the monster changes dream and attacks uncle Aziraphale, and Crowley stops being sad and becomes pissed off instead. And so on.”

“Wait,” declared the witch, raising her hand. “Are you saying they won’t die at all? We just have to wait until the monster tires and releases them? Did we do all this for nothing?”

The boy shrugged. “Depends. It’s kind of an immortal monster, maybe it won’t get tired until a hundred years. Plus, they’re being tortured. That’s not nice to leave them like that without helping.”

He raised his hand, showing the little pouch. “I think this one can make a difference. Not sure if she can kill the monster, but I guess she’ll try. Nightmares are her things, after all.”

“All right. Let’s do it. Agnes told us to, so it _has_ to work.”

Adam carefully opened the pouch, then dropped it near Crowley’s face.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“What are you waiting for?” yelled Crowley, kneeling on the ground and staring at the Beast standing in front of him in a cloud of sulphur.

It was over. He’d done his best, he _tried_ to stop the war, but there was no escaping _this_.

_Sorry, angel. Guess I’m not much good without you._

Near him, the boy _(Adam,_ remembered Crowley _. His name is Adam)_ whimpered.

“Adam!” yelled the girl, grabbing the sword on the floor. “Adam, get up! We can win! You _said_ we could win!”

 _Not against him_ , thought Crowley. He looked up into Satan’s eyes again.

“Come on! I know you’re dying to do it! I am here! I helped them! I don’t care about fucking Armageddon! I _betrayed_ you!”

One of the other boys, the one with glasses, bent over to take the tyre iron next to Crowley. The third one was shaking the Antichrist’s shoulder.

“Get up Adam! We can get him too!”

Crowley didn’t really pay attention to them. Humans are screwed, that much is obvious. All of them, dead already. Who cares anyway? They left Aziraphale to die.

“Come on, you stupid egomaniac! You’re here to make a point, he? They’re all looking so _punish_ me!”

Satan finally stopped looking at his son and dropped his eyes to Crowley.

“ **Crawwwwlyyyy… your death will be an example for every demon to behold. You will suffer torments** **beyond your imagination** **.”**

Crowley let out a bitter snarl. “Just get on with it, arsehole.”

Satan flickered for a second, and Crowley blinked. Strange. There was an odd feeling, like a bubble bursting somewhere, and suddenly someone was yelling besides him.

“--NOT let you just quit that easily, Crowley! GET UP! And _you_ , don’t you DARE approach him!”

The demon blinked slowly, turning to his right.

“A—ziraphale?”

The angel, who was glaring daggers at Lucifer, gasped and looked at him. “Crowley! Can you see me?”

Crowley nodded blankly. This was Aziraphale. Safe and sound. Pissed off too, and that was the best thing he ever saw.

“You… you’re alive?” he croaked. The angel smiled in relief.

“Yes, I am. And no, I don’t have time to explain right now, you have to wake up!”

“W-- Whot?”

“Wake up, Crowley!” Aziraphale grabbed his shoulder, eyes blazing. “WAKE.UP."

* * *

Later, Adam would explain to his friend that his uncle’s awakening was even better than any revival in the movies. His eyes flew open, he took a sharp intake of breath and jerked upright in the most dramatic fashion.

“It was _super_ scary!” the boy would boast.

Everyone took a step back, and Dog yelped. Then pretended that the sound never escaped his throat.

A soft “thump” resounded in the room, and the demon looked around with wide, entirely yellow eyes.

“What the-- Adam? What’re you all--”

Anathema waved his questions away, then pointed to the floor. “No time. He’s on his own now, you have to help him!”

Following her motion, Crowley looked down.

 _This isn’t normal,_ provided his mind very astutely. _Aziraphale doesn’t sleep. Especially face down on the floor._

“Don’t enter his dream!” cried Adam as the demon kneeled near his friend and reached out. He looked up at his godson, squinting. Memories were flooding back. Dreams…

_Dream monster. Heaven. Alexandria. The fire. Bookshop._

“How did you do it?” snapped the demon, rolling Aziraphale on his back. “What did you do to make me hear him?”

“We used a dream eater. I think it weakened it, made your nightmare less real.”

“It’s in him now?” asked Crowley, searching the angel’s face. Way too pale, he didn’t like it one bit. “The dream eater? Is it still there?”

“Yes. I didn’t see it escape. I think it’s still fighting the monster.”

 _Good_. Crowley closed his eyes, lightly touching the angel’s temple.

“You can’t go back there!” yelled Anathema. “We barely got you back, that thing will only put you to sleep again!”

The demon didn’t open his eyes. “It’s probably too busy fighting to mind me. Anyway, I’m not going to stand there and watch.”

_I’m not losing him again._

Crowley plunged.

* * *

The demon looked around.

“That’s… not what I expected,” he murmured, snarling as someone bumped his shoulder.

All right, at least he was clearly corporeal. He hadn’t been able to touch anything in Aziraphale’s dreams so far.

Where _was_ the angel? He looked up at the glass ceiling, frowned at its very particular shape. Difficult _not_ to recognise that place. They’d been here thousands of times.

“Why am I in the Louvre? Where is the angel?” he muttered.

So, a present day dream. Louvre.

Crowley racked his brain, trying to remember something bad happening during one of their visits here in the last thirty years. They’d been here _a lot_. Difficult not to, when most of the piece of art reminded them of their past. They’d seen some of them being made. Owned some.

But he couldn’t remember anything awful taking place there.

“Think, stupid, _think_ ,” he growled. The monster was making its prey miserable, pushing them to wish for Death to come.

His eyes brusquely widened. Aziraphale had dreamt of his worst moments. Moments of doubts, moments where he was questioning his faith. It didn’t have to be a war. He’d known the angel for a long time, and Aziraphale seldom doubted God, but when it happened, Crowley had always sensed it, and came as fast as possible to help him out of it. Except in these dreams. Here the angel was alone, no one to help him.

It all came back in a flash. The new exhibit, the paintings. _That_ painting. Aziraphale’s face seeing it. Him transporting them back to the bookshop in a hurry. It had been a close one that day, had taken hours before the angel had stopped staring into the distance and accepted a cup of tea. What would have happened if Crowley hadn’t been there?

“Second floor,” hissed the demon, running to the stairs.

  
  


* * *

Aziraphale was transfixed, his eyes riveted to the painting.

_Look away. Look away, Principality, close your eyes._

But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t it be lying? To pretend it wasn’t there? That none of it had happened? To push his memories away and only keep what seemed good and right?

_I was there. It happened._

Someone elbowed him, trying to push him and get a better angle for their camera. The angel didn’t move an inch. He couldn’t move even if he’d wanted to. Again, he remembered the title, just besides the painting.

The fall of the rebel angels.

It was quite inaccurate. Angel didn’t wear that kind of clothes, especially while fighting. Too restrictive. And helmets? No, Heaven’s armies never had those.

But Michael. Her expression, her casual disdain as her brothers Fell around her, that was dead on. She had a sword, exactly like this day. The blade hadn’t been clean, then. The painter obviously didn’t want to feature blood in Heaven.

The fool. Ichor had been everywhere. Everywhere.

His hands tightened into fists at his side. Absolute memory was the worst. Why now? Why like this? It was just a _painting_. He’d seen so many of those.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Michael.

She’d been smiling, he recalled. A small, _satisfied_ little smile, when all had been over.

Like she’d just finished some menial task and was happy to get to the next. Like she hadn’t just destroyed forever some of her brothers and sisters.

“Why?” murmured Aziraphale. “How is it possible? Where is the compassion?”

Like a magnet, his eyes shot to the white bird flying over the Archangel’s head. God never had been one to use corporations, and he doubted she would choose that one were she to take one, but he was well aware of human’s symbolism.

“Why did you do this? Why did you let them?”

The bird didn’t answer. Aziraphale felt a huge lump in his throat and an ache in his chest. What was he _doing_ here exactly? What was his purpose? Looking upon death after death? Trying to help humans through their hardest times, only to be told to let it happen? All that to end in a great, bloody last battle, and watching Michael’s smug smile forever and ever, trying to convince himself it was _right_?

There was nothing worth saving in this world. Good things always ended, and all that remained was loneliness and misery, for everyone.

“This is not ineffable _at all_ ,” he muttered. “Ineffable was supposed to be _good_.”

“Better not go that way,” answered a voice on his left. Aziraphale flinched as a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” said the stranger as he took a step back, hands raised. “No touching, got it. Are you okay?”

The angel frowned. “Do I know you?” he snapped with only a slight pang of guilt. Why bother being polite now? Good and evil didn’t mean a thing after all. He looked closer, and gasped in outrage. “Are you a _demon_?”

The man tilted his head, frowning. Aziraphale couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but he looked… hurt. And angry.

“Okay, _that’s it_. I’ve had enough,” he shot out, looking around. “I can excuse the fire, and Satan, and the-- the _dead angel_ thing, hilarious that one, well done, but making him _ **forget about me**_? Oh no, boy, that’s where I draw the line. You’re so freaking _dead_ , you bastard! I’ll find you, and I’ll destroy you, and I will bring you back from the dead and do it again and again until--”

The sound of a clearing throat interrupted his rant. He looked back sheepishly.

“Ahh… yeah. Probably should focus on not getting smote right now, is that it?”

“I rather think that would be the sensible thing to do at the moment, yes. Maybe instead of threatening to kill me you should have just done it,” declared Aziraphale, unfolding his ethereal body.

“Wow wow wow _wow_! Juuuust a minute, I just want to talk to you ooone minute, m’not here to-- oh fuck, you brought out the eagle too, that’s not good-- I’m not here to _fight_!”

“Begone, foul fiend!” toned the angel, tearing one of the metal pole that kept visitors from touching the paintings from the ground and cutting the ropes off it with a twist of his fingers.

It ignited with a loud sound.

“I’m here to help! I’m your friend!” yelped Crowley, jumping out of reach.

He briefly wondered if he could die in this dream, or if he would just wake up.

“I have no friends!” barked Aziraphale, charging.

Crowley hid behind a statue, pouting. “Well, _that_ hurt.”

_At least I made him forget about the painting._

“Come and fight me instead of running!” yelled the angel, unwilling to destroy a piece of art.

“Why would I do _that_? You’re obviously ready to kill me. I’m not _stupid_ , angel!”

His friend stopped and frowned. “What did you call me?”

Crowley took a suspicious peek from behind his statue. “What?”

Aziraphale paled. The pole clanged on the marble floor.

“Crowley?”

The demon smiled in relief, stepping to the side, hands in his pocket.

“Hiya, angel.”

His friend looked around, a little lost. “I don’t feel so well,” he mumbled.

Crowley reached out and grasped his upper arm, relieved to see the touch welcomed this time.

“Yeah, been there. You’ll feel better in a minute. Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm not happy with myself, next one will be PURE FLUFF AND COMFORT. I don't care about the theme, I'll make it.  
> //Looks at the prompts// Oh YEAH! Poisoned!!!!!  
> This is going to be FUN!  
> Don't worry, Fluff and comfort for the boys. Time to torture someone else for a change^^


	23. 22-Do these Tacos taste Funny to you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are finally free from their nightmares, and a Duke of Hell decides that he is in need of some cathartic action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry to have made you wait so much! Writing is a tad difficult lately, but I'm still here and I don't intend to abandon you anytime soon!
> 
> Hope you're all well and safe. Here is some hurt/comfort for you. Not as fluffy as I intended though.  
> Next week will be much more light, work-wise, and I really hope my muse will use the occasion to visit me!  
> I also intend to catch up on sleep^^
> 
> Thank you all for your kudos and lovely comments! I know I have trouble answering as fast as I usually do, lately, but be assured that EVERY comment is warming my heart and brightening my day! You are all amazing!
> 
> Today's prompt is "Poisoned/drugged". Hope you'll like it!

Aziraphale gasped, eyes brusquely opening.

“Easy now, angel. It’s fine.”

He let Crowley help him to sit up and looked around, trying to make sense of the chaotic images flashing before his eyes.

The demon seemed to understand. “Nightmares. We got stuck. Wasn’t real.”

The angel groaned, burying his face in his hands for a few seconds as he tried to organise his thoughts. They were in the bookshop. Safe, both of them.

“What is Adam doing here?” he asked, voice muffled.

“Caught a dream eater and released her* next to us. She found and attacked the nightmare monster, and we’ve been able to escape thanks to her.”

*Dream eaters always were female. Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale knew how they reproduced, and it would be _dreadfully rude_ to ask.

“That was… incredibly brilliant.” Aziraphale took a deep breath, looked up and smiled tensely to their nephew. “Well done, my dear.”

“It was Anathema’s idea,” prompted the boy in all fairness.

“No, it was Agnes,” corrected the witch.

Aziraphale stood up, mouth set in a grim line, and looked around again, squinting to see into another plane of existence. The monster couldn’t be very far away, not if it was still fighting, but as soon as it would be able to go, it would attack humans all over London.

Crowley tilted his head at something near the fireplace. “They’re still at it, but the bugger’s powerful. Eater’s not going to last,” he said in the casual voice of a sport commentator.

And indeed the poor creature seemed in a rather difficult situation.

“Well, she probably saved our lives, and I will not condone any more tragedy in this house today,” declared the angel coldly. “Ready, my dear?”

Crowley grinned like a shark, a deadly glint in his eyes. “More than. Let’s _lick some butts._ ”

Aziraphale huffed, but didn’t look away from the empty (to human eye) spot where two very angry entities continued fighting. “You will _never_ let it go, won’t you?”

“Nope. Never.”

“You fiend.”

“Aw, thanks, angel. On three?”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale turned to their Godson for a second and nodded at him. “Adam, I am ever so sorry to ask that of you after all you already did, but could you keep an eye on dear Anathema and Newt for a moment? A shield would be more than welcome.”

* * *

Outside of the shop, Hastur was keeping watch. Sandalphon had decided to “collect” more creatures to unleash against Crowley, and the Duke of Hell hadn’t been interested in helping him.

They may have a common objective; it didn’t mean they had to spend time together.

Hastur was thinking. It wasn’t his favourite activity, hitting first and questioning it later being far more entertaining, but he was pretty decent at reflection when he put his mind to it.

And he didn’t like the situation one bit.

Twice already, Aziraphale had been threatened by what was supposed to be aimed specifically at Crowley.

Holy creatures weren’t supposed to hurt angels, but Sandalphon was a sick bastard and took great care in underfeeding them and creating the most stressful environment possible, so they would be raging mad and starving when released next to Crowley.

And for that, Hastur could only (begrudgingly) be impressed. Except that Sandalphon’s prey were hating their captor, and by extension hating angelic smell. This was not good.

Aziraphale had been preyed on, and _no one_ should try to hurt Hastur’s angel.*

*No one, including Hastur, to his regret. It had taken time, but the Duke of Hell had realized at some point that Aziraphale wouldn’t fall desperately in love with him were he to try that seduction tactic. It was a little disappointing, but after all everyone had flaws, even Aziraphale.

And it didn’t seem to get any better. He hadn’t seen his angel get out of the shop in _days,_ then the two humans and their terrifying little offspring*, and then…

Then a lot happened. First the light show that had been almost blinding even with the curtains shut, and from the other side of the street, in daylight. He’d felt the power unleashing inside, demonic and angelic energy mingling, fighting, not against each other as would have been natural, but side by side, against something else.

*No way Hastur would get close to that tiny human being. It was oozing Antichrist protection. Would probably burn him were he to even touch it. He’d met Adam once already, and didn’t intend to reiterate the experience any time soon.

And now everything was calm again. But Hastur knew better. Someone was going to come out of the shop any second now, he could see their shadows behind the door…

It opened. It was Aziraphale! Hastur’s heart leaped in his chest. Then it crashed down. Crowley was following the angel, closest than ever.

The Duke of Hell’s eyes widened in horror.

Crowley was...

Crowley was touching the angel!

Grabbing his shoulder, to be precise. Then they started to move, and the demon’s hand dropped, but he kept walking way too close to Aziraphale to Hastur’s peace of mind.

What the fuck had happened? Their arms were _brushing_! Like a man unable to tear his eyes away from an impending accident, Hastur followed them, concealing his presence.

Crowley did it twice more before entering the bakery. First, he touched the angel’s elbow before crossing the street, then he _gripped his wrist_ before pushing the door to enter.

Worst, Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind.

Hastur was an excellent lurker, and an even greater stalker. He knew Aziraphale’s every tiny habits and expression. Even if the angel and Crowley did touch each other on occasion, it was never that frequent. And they usually walked at least two inches apart. Brushing arms were not normal.

Seething, Hastur turned away and headed towards Sandalphon’s lair.

This was all the Archangel’s fault. The plan had been to separate Aziraphale from Crowley, not to push them closer!

Someone would have to _pay_ , and Hastur knew exactly who.

* * *

Aziraphale kissed Fyre’s forehead, hugged Anathema and Newt, and waved as they drove away. Next to him, Crowley was the living impersonation of cool and aloof, glasses firmly in place, hair artfully tousled, slouched against the bookshop’s door with his hands in his pockets.*

*Or at least, half of his hands. These were _very_ small pockets.

The angel wasn’t fooled for one second. Under that breezy demeanour, he could sense his friend’s nervousness. Aziraphale had a good reason for sending their dear friends back home that quickly, even if it was awfully rude after everything they had done for them, and that reason was that Crowley was on the verge of a major breakdown that needed to be dealt with rather promptly.

Crowley’s first nightmare (the first Aziraphale had shared) had been horrible. His feelings so raw, and his heartbreak so terrible the angel knew he’d been dreaming for a while to be in such a state already. He had no idea how long his dear friend had been reliving his worst memories before the angel tried to rouse him and joined him in his sleep.

His own experience had been hard enough, and the hurt and loneliness of his dreams lingered in his mind. He knew it wasn’t real, but it felt so even now. It would for a while, he could tell.

And for him to still be shaken, when the nightmares hadn’t even started to feature his very worst fears, he couldn’t even imagine how Crowley was feeling right now. Every time the demon had to turn away and leave Aziraphale out of his direct line of sight, he found a way to touch him. To make sure he was still here.

This was heartbreaking. Aziraphale would feel devastated indeed, were he not _seething with rage_.

“All right, angel?” asked Crowley in a way-too-calm-and-collected voice.

“I am fine, dear.”

“No you’re not.”

They exchanged a look. “I will be. These delicious cakes you bought will certainly help.”

The angel headed to the back room, Crowley following him like a shadow. With a snap of his fingers, his armchair relocated right next to the couch, and he settled there with a plate of chocolate cupcakes and a book.

Then he looked up, his expression schooled in absent-minded expectation.

“Well, my dear?”

Crowley’s left eyebrow shot up. “Well what?”

“I thought you would want to rest after all that dreadful business.”

The demon recoiled slightly. “Sleeping? No, I’ve had enough of that for a while.”

“You love to sleep, Crowley.”

“Not any more.”

“Do not be ridiculous.”

“Told you I don’t feel sssleepy!” snapped the demon.

Aziraphale looked down for a second, thinking of the best course of action. He knew his friend was exhausted, and anyway, even if he hadn’t been, Crowley loved nothing more than a good nap, and he couldn’t let this awful experience deprive his dearest friend of it.

He looked up again with his best pleading eyes. The demon snarled.

“Sssstop that!”

“Crowley, dearest… I would love to read peacefully while you’re resting, like everything is normal and fine.”

Crowley hesitated. He didn’t even want to think about closing his eyes right now, but Aziraphale was right. It would help them heal to act like they did every day. The angel needed it.

Slowly, he sat on the couch, then shuffled to his side to put his head on the cushions, eyes firmly locked on his friend.

No way he would close then, though. That was too much to ask right now. Deep down in the pit of his stomach, he had this feeling that Aziraphale was gone forever, and closing his eyes would only make it grow, crushing everything in its wake.

The angel opened his book, took a bite of cake, then extended his left hand on the edge of the couch without a word, eyes fixed on his page.

Of course, Crowley was a big bad demon. He didn’t need someone to hold his freaking hand.

Humming at something interesting he’d just read, Aziraphale turned a page. He didn’t look up when cold fingers touched his lightly and settled in the palm of his hand.

* * *

Sandalphon walked into his secret base with a satisfied smile. This time, Crowley wouldn’t be able to get out unscathed. Not with the creature he was bringing in.

Still smiling, he unlocked one of his widest cages, taking the parchment with the invoking rune out of his pocket to place it in the centre of the cage.

Getting witches and wizards to create that kind of spell for him cost quite a pretty amount of human money. But being powerless didn’t mean Sandalphon was _useless_. He had soon discovered that money was pretty easy to collect if you knew where to look and weren’t bound to human laws.

_Now I just need to light the candle and-_

His thoughts were cut short as something sharp hit his neck. Sandalphon raised his hand, warrior instincts kicking in, but he could already feel his head spinning.

“No need to fight it, white wings. That particular poison has been devised specially for people like you. I used it on Aziraphale once. To abduct him of course,” sighed Hastur, his voice wistful as he reminded himself of the occasion.*

*It had been terribly romantic. Then Crowley had barged in and ruined a perfectly delightful date.

“Of course I don’t intend to abduct _you_. You don’t deserve it. No, I think I’ll leave you here and head back Down. I have work, you see? Of course you don’t, you don’t have a job anymore.”

The Duke of Hell crouched and tilted his head at the panting Archangel who was trying to get on his knees.

“I’m very disappointed, you know. You said you would help me win my angel. You didn’t help _at all_. Still, I can’t punish you too hard. You’re in love, after all, and you ruined all of your chances with Crowley now. So, from one hopeless fool to another, I won’t release the creatures to do as they please with you.”

Sandalphon’s eyes widened in horror.

“No, I’m not that cruel. I only weakened the hinges of the doors. Poison will take two hours to wear off. Doors will hold around the same time if no one hits them too hard. Maybe you’ll feel good enough to walk before the first one breaks! Have fun, mate!”

With a cackle, Hastur sank into the ground. Sandalphon groaned, trying to move.

In the cage near him, something groaned and threw itself at the bars, and was soon imitated by all the trapped creatures in the room.

* * *

It took almost an hour for the demon’s breathing to even, and another one before the angel closed his book without a sound, careful not to move his left hand, and looked at his sleeping friend with a thoughtful expression.

For the third time since he’d fallen asleep, Crowley’s face twisted as a nightmare (a very normal, absolutely human one) started to take form in that overflowing imagination of his. For the third time, Aziraphale nipped it in the bud with an onslaught of soothing, loving Grace.

The Principality wasn’t happy.

This was _enough_. Whoever had orchestrated all this would have to pay, and very soon at that.

Crowley would sleep, then they would head out and find that bastard and crushed them into oblivion.

Aziraphale was a nice, patient being, but he was feeling very much on the old testament side of the smiting spectrum right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering what happened to the nightmare monster, or the dream-eater, do not be afraid, I intend to explain it, it is quite funny, and I almost put it here, but since I intend to post the nightmare story as a standalone soon, I decided to keep the surprise until then. It will be the same story, but with more details. 
> 
> Next theme will be "You're not making any sense" with the prompts "forced mutism/blindfolded/sensory deprivation"  
> Not sure what I'll use yet...
> 
> But it will have to wait a bit, I'm afraid. I intend to post a new chapter of Heaven Park and finish my "Five times" invocation story first. By now you know me enough to realise it could take me between two days and a month to achieve it^^  
> (But if my muse decides to visit me, I HOPE I'll be able to do it next week).
> 
> Chaotic IS my middle name^^


	24. 16-A Terrible, Horrible, Not Good, Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandalphon isn't having a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandalphon is the only one not having a good time here. I had a GREAT time writing this^^  
> I still am working on Heaven Park (and it's a long chapter, believe me) and the last chapter of 5 Times Crowley got summoned, but I have a difficult time writing lately. It will come back. It always comes back.

Hastur hesitated before raising his hand.

He had been on his way to Hell when he’d decided to go back and was wondering if it was a good move.

He was almost sure it wasn’t.

With a snarl, he knocked on the bookshop’s door.

At least, he tried to. His hand didn’t reach the wood, the door opening in a blur and clawed hands grabbing at his collar and shoving him roughly against a wall.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here, Hassstur?” growled Crowley murderously. “Is thisss all your doing? Are you the one sssending all of them? You’re dead meat! You hear me? **DEAD MEAT**!”

“Oh, no need to get all worked up like that for a few love bites, Crawly. I’m here to talk to the angel,” pouted the Duke of Hell, begrudgingly impressed by Crowley’s threatening stance.

“I do not think so,” declared Aziraphale, stepping in from the back room. “I have nothing to tell you, Hastur. The only reason I won’t destroy you for that nightmare monster is because you helped me once in the past. Get out of our shop and never come back. Unless,” added Aziraphale, turning to Crowley, “you intend to destroy him yourself, of course, my dear. I didn’t want to imply that I would interfere.”

The Duke’s eyes widened. There was no heat in the angel’s voice. Not even anger, or contempt. Just polite coldness.

“ _Wait_! I didn’t send that one! I don’t even know what it was supposed to do! I only helped with the kappa and Hell-sylphs! Didn’t you like them?” he asked with a hopeful smile to Crowley.

The hand on his neck tightened its grip, claws piercing the skin slightly. “The kappa was YOU? That wanker hurt my _car_!”

Aziraphale stepped behind this friend, glaring daggers at Hastur over his shoulder.*

“ _You_ are the one who sent the Hell-sylphs? The sylphs that tried to _kill_ Crowley?”

*And this was such a delightful vision. Wrath was much better than being ignored.

Hastur rolled his eyes. “Not _kill_ him, just… you know, hurt him a little. Just a bit.”

The angel’s eyes turned murderous. “So you admit trying to hurt him!”

Hastur grimaced in disgust. “Not _me_! It was just to help someone else! I would never release a creature after Crowley, I swear! You know I’m only interested in you!”

Aziraphale frowned in confusion. Crowley sighed heavily, letting go of Hastur. “Oh, _Satan’s bollocks!_ Don’t tell me someone was trying to… Who? Who were you helping?”

“Trying to what, my dear?” asked Aziraphale, looking from one demon to the other.

Crowley blushed and looked down in embarrassment.

“Trying to what, exactly?” pushed the angel.

“Aaaaah... You know… Hell’s customs are...”

“Someone is trying to win him over,” explained Hastur, watching the angel closely.

Aziraphale froze, eyes widening in something that could be described as some sort of fascinated horror mixed with wicked glee. “Do you mean that a demon is trying to _court_ Crowley?”

“Not funny, angel.”

“Of course not. It certainly isn’t.”

“Stop smiling then.”

Aziraphale nodded firmly, trying and failing to hide his mirth. “I am not. I am very cross at your _suitor_.”

“I hate you.”

With a sly grin, Aziraphale turned back to Hastur. “Who is it? I need to know the name of such a tasteful person.”

“It’s Sandalphon,” said the Duke, not bothered to keep the secret.

Two pairs of incredulous eyes blinked. The angel’s amusement was nowhere to be seen anymore.

“I beg your pardon? _**Who**_ did you say?”

* * *

It was not Sandalphon’s favourite day. He was fairly sure that his corporation was dying, the poison not seeming to wear off at all, and the creatures were about to tear their cages down. In a moment, he would suffer a lot, then go back to Heaven where he would have to explain how he’d lost another body.

No way he would answer _that_ question.

He heard a loud crash as a door finally fell off its hinges behind him, and braced himself, not even able to turn his head to see. Strangely, it didn't sound like a _metallic_ door...

“Oh, Lord almighty,” breathed someone.

Sandalphon knew this voice. He’d despised it for millennia.

Someone whistled. “Look at all this! How many cages? Wahoo, all that for me? Colour me flattered!”

The Archangel couldn’t roll his eyes, but had he been in possession of all his faculties, he certainly would have.

“This isn’t fun at all, Crowley. They are all trapped here, and terribly unhappy.”

Sandalphon saw two pairs of shoes walk past him, heading to the cages.

“Not for long. Hastur didn’t lie, they’re all about to break out.”

“We can’t have that. Help me calm them before they do.

“Wait a minute, angel.”

Aziraphale stopped, looking at his friend expectantly. “Yes, Crowley?”

“I’m all for sending them back where they belong, but you can’t deny them some fun first, right?” He pointed to Sandalphon, still on the ground. “They all hate him, it would be cathartic for them to let them… you know?”

Aziraphale frowned and crossed his arms. “Bite him to discorporation? Absolutely not!”

The demon huffed. “Come on, angel! It would be fun!” He looked at the Archangel with a toothy smile. “Not for you, I mean.”

Sandalphon groaned and glared at him. If looks could kill, Crowley would be a mere stain on the floor by now.

“No!” declared Aziraphale sternly. “Out of the question. I am appalled that you even thought about it. Really, Crowley! They’ve suffered enough!”

Crowley spluttered in indignation, pointing to Sandalphon. “Suffered _enough_ ?” He snarled. “ Really? After all he has done? He suffered _enough_ ?” He gritted his teeth to prevent more words from spill ing out. Like _How can you still defend these wankers?_ Or _You would_ never _grant mercy to a demon in the same situation_ . Or even _I thought we were on our side? Did you forget that already?_

A year ago, he would have said all that. He would have watched the words land and hurt, and would have enjoyed it for a second.*

Not today, though. One year released from Heaven and Hell’s grasps was a short time for eternal beings, but it had been enough for Crowley to know with absolute certainty that Aziraphale’s loyalties didn’t lay with Heaven anymore, if they ever had at all.

*Then he would have tried to make up for it with books and sweets for a few weeks, because demons don’t apologise.

The angel blinked owlishly, then understanding dawned and he smiled at his friend, patting his arm. “I was talking about the creatures, dear. We can’t let them bite him. He’s been _poisoned_!”

“Oh,” said Crowley, feeling a little foolish.

“I will try to calm them down and miracle them home.”

“Yeah, better if I stayed out of it. They all hate evil by nature, and they’ve been taught to target my smell. Well, according to Hastur at least. I’ll keep Sandy company.”

Sandalphon watched as the snake-skin shoes approached him. With great difficulties, he tilted his face to look up at Aziraphale.

“Wait…” he murmured. “You can’t… you can’t leave me here with him.”

The Principality’s eyes burned with ethereal wrath. “Cruelty and torture are two things I _strongly_ disapprove of, Sandalphon. What you did to these poor creatures is beyond despicable. I will not stand in Crowley’s way. After all, it’s him you were trying to kill in the first place,” he said before walking away, lightly touching each cage in turn with a small, soothing miracle.

The Archangel turned back to Crowley, who was now grinning down at him like a shark.

“He does, you know. Disapprove, I mean. Now I’m a fallen, so torture and cruelty are no trouble to _me_ , you see?” lied the demon. “I think I’ll have a lot of fun taking care of you.”

Sandalphon’s eyes widened in dread as the demon reached out. Then everything went black. Vaguely, his subconscious registered words he couldn’t understand in his drowsy state.

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you just… was that a healing spell I sensed?”

“Yep. I got rid of the poison. He’ll be out cold for an hour or two.”

“My dear, why ever did you _do_ that?”

“It was the right thing to do, angel. Don’t roll your eyes like that.”

“You have a plan. I can see it in your face, Anthony J Crowley.”

A chuckle. “I may.”

“Jolly good. I cannot wait to hear about it.”

“See you later, angel. Careful with the lich.”

“Of course. Mind how you go, dear boy.”

The last thing Sandalphon felt was the twirling, bubbling sensation of a teleportation.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The backroom was warm and comfortable, as always, and the wine had been flowing for the better part of the evening. The only difference between this night and any other was the presence of the angel on the couch instead of his usual armchair. Next to him, sprawled in his usual slouch*, Crowley was grinning.

*With one of his foot touching the angel’s knee, just to be sure he was still there, as Crowley’s eyes were presently focused on making sure he was filling his glass without wasting any Riesling.

“You did _not_!” gasped Aziraphale in delight.

“Swear to Manchester I did, angel!”

“Oh, you _wicked_ thing, you! How did you do it? I do hope you didn’t modify anyone’s memories.”

“Naaaah. Just asked to talk to the captain right before they embarked, and handed him the package. I paid good money. Told them they had to make him work hard to earn his food. Sandy’s now on an eighteen months trip somewhere in the Pacific and he will not be able to escape. He’ll still be powerless for a few years, so he won’t be any trouble to them.”

“So,” asked the angel, raising a hand. “You are telling me that an Archangel is currently working as some sort of slave on a smuggling ship?”

Crowley made a face. “Not _slave_ , slave. He’s getting paid. He'll just have nowhere to use the money and can’t get out for a year and a half. And he’ll have to pull his weight if he wants his meals. It’s not a cruise ship.”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “I guess it may help him think about what he’s done. Maybe even push him to change his ways, and open himself to compassion.”

Crowley drunkenly flailed his arms and legs until he was in a more upright position, pointing at his friend with a grin. “See? _That’s_ why I like you so much, angel. You’re an incurable optimist. I _highly_ doubt it, Sandy’s a freaking psychopath that will _never_ get better, but it’s cute that you think it’s a possibility.”

Aziraphale pouted and tried to focus on his empty glass. “And what are the possibilities of another bottle being opened?” he mused.

“Veeeery high. You deserve _wine_ , angel!” declared Crowley, unsuccessfully trying to snap his fingers, then scrambling to his feet as he decided to get the bottle without magic.

“I do!” exclaimed Aziraphale. “I had a _dreadful_ day!”

“All these stupid creatures trying to bite your arm off when you were helping them!” shouted the demon over his shoulder.

“I _was_ helping them! And they still hated me!” wailed the angel forlornly. “Though I cannot really blame them, what with Sandalphon hurting them like this...”

“Nah, they’re all wankers. _Bad_ creatures. Not even understanding you were helping. You know _who_ would have understood?” asked Crowley, coming back with another bottle.

Aziraphale held his glass out, frowning in concentration, then gasped. “Dolphins!”

The demon nodded gravely, pouring the wine. “Dolphins.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hastur has been forgiven for his participation. (Begrudgingly, on Crowley's end), since he didn't know Sandalphon's real plan. It doesn't mean he's welcome in the Bookshop, but we all know he'll be back anyway^^.
> 
> So sorry for the wait between every post these last months, I hope everything will get better once I've finally finished my last exam this Thursday. I hope it's some kind of exam stress that's stopping me from writing!  
> I'm also supposed to FINISH MY REPORT for the same day, which means I should MAYBE start writing it today^^*.  
> *Who am I kidding. I'm the queen of procrastination^^.
> 
> Honestly, I can't wait for 2021 to start. This year has been so long, right? And also so short, at the same time...  
> Thank you for all your comments and kudos, they are always brightening my days! You all gave me so much confidence this last year. I am so happy to know my stories are making you smile!
> 
> I hope you are all safe! Take good care, everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> I only just realized that whumptober 2.0 was the 42th work I posted...
> 
> 42\. 
> 
> I think I've I've attained the peak of my existence. 🤍😇😎🖤


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